In his Major Thompson lives in France, writer Pierre Danois identified defining characteristics of the French and English provided by a surgeon who operated on them both. While an Englishman contains “a waterproof. . . a cup of tea. . . the Calais-Mediterranean time-table. . . a cricket ball, some fog,” a Frenchman “eats bread, knows no geography and wears the Legion of Honor in his buttonhole [and is an] . . . abyss of contradictions.” (pp. 16-17).
Mais oui! Danois pointed to that confusion that greets the first-time visitor to France. The French may criticize their government but expect the government to provide excellent health care, retirement and education. They may not attend church, but they want to retain their religious holidays. For an American, especially during a recession, a government healthcare system and a basically free education (through the university) sound like a terrestrial paradise. But the French insist, “Non, ça va très mal en France.” And when all else fails to convince the visitor, the older French would refer to the ailments of the liver--le mal au foie.
European neighbors assume the French have it too easy. The 35-hour work week, five weeks of paid vacation and strikes in public schools and universities, and mass transit give the impression that no one works. That the country is unproductive.
Economist and writer Michel Volle defines the French not by the headlines and superficial impressions but by what he terms the “animateurs” or the “vértèbras” who work tirelessly behind the scenes, receive little recognition . . . but assure that organizations and the country continue to “function.” (See his article, “Le coeur secret de la France,” 24 Oct 2006, http://www.volle.com/opinion/coeurimp.htm).
France can be different things for different people—a country of monuments, works of art and a long history; a people of contradictions; or country that consists of behind-the-scenes workers.
Most likely, all of us remember a foreign country by the details, les petits soupçons, or hints. For me, the South of France is a kaleidoscope of impressions and memories. Turkish coffee with friends at La Boutique (Opio). The ribald humor of the workers at the PMU. The intense buzz of those scooters that swarm around motorists or pedestrians. The citrus and palms that seem to grow everywhere. Flowers in every nook and corner. A wonderful chef salad with chicken and slivers of parmesan at the Café de la Plage. The shop window at the boutique Cité des Anges that changes daily. The long wait at the national employment agency or the prefecture. The paperwork and official documents still required by many government agencies.
France has changed since Danois wrote his book. If we were to operate on a French person today, we would probably find L’Equipe, the sports newspaper, crumbs from a baguette of bread, an espresso and some wine, a combination of gourmet, McDo hamburgers and pizza as well as the more familiar “tu” instead of the formal “vous” and probably a collection of unused conjugaisons in subjunctive and passé simple.
Now, what would an American contain?
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