 Glass sculpture in an art gallery's front window in the 6th arrondisement.
Jazz musicians playing on the Passerelle des Arts, over the Seine.
Dog dancing to the music of the jazz band.
We walked along the Seine, enjoying the Paris Beach project. No cars! Roller bladers fly by. Musicians like to play in the stone arches under the bridges, because of the acoustics. Here, a drummer plays a hollowed-out log. He attracts a young audience right away.
The little girl in pink stopped riding here bike and watched the drummer for quite a while. He taught her a few things about drumming, and let her play on the log for a bit. He got up at one point, walked over to the metal railing by the water, and played on the railing. He was very talented. The little girl was awestruck.
Two buildings leaning on each other for support, in the St. Andre passage in the ancient 6th arrondisement. |
One
day the phone rang and I answered. The caller was an insurance salesman asking for
our friends, the owners of this apartment in Paris. After I explained that they were
away, he asked about us. I explained that we were just friends who were staying in
the apartment for the summer. I had a bit of trouble understanding him, and so he
said a few words in English. He asked if we were working. I figured he wanted
to sell disability insurance, so I answered him, in French, saying that we were not
working, and that we were just here for the summer. Many people don't consider
our writing to be working, so I guess this is accurate according to the masses.
Writing is the hardest thing we've ever done, and we've both done hard labor, which is
much easier, so go figure . . . . "En vacances!" he said [on vacation!] He wanted to chat, even though he couldn't sell us anything. He was charmed by the fact that I would attempt to speak French. He said my French was good. Then I knew he was lying. I said "but no, it is bad." And he kindly disagreed. Then he informed me, in a friendly way, that very, very few Americans speak French. I said that many study it, but then do not have the opportunity to use it very much in the U.S. or anywhere nearby, and so they forget it. He said then that very few Americans WOULD speak French. I told him that if I spoke Spanish, my Spanish would be much better than my French is because many, many people speak Spanish in the U.S., and I'd have lots of practice. He acknowledged this fact, that there are many people who speak Spanish in the U.S. But, he said, a French businessman would have to speak only English if he travelled to the U.S. I acknowledged that this was probably true. He went on to tell me more about Americans. He was nice about it, though, and several things he said made me laugh. He took that as a good sign. He told me again that very few Americans are interested in learning French. I told him we, Tom and I, study it some every day, and that I had many friends who love France and who know some French. He said but no, that is very rare. He said it is really only the upper classes in America that know any French. That really made me laugh. Class-consciousness is alive and well in France, in a way that it never has been and never will be in the U.S. But I didn't presume to tell him about the French. I suppose that he knows more French people than I do. And even though I know more Americans than he does, he was still very interested in telling me about Americans. He said, no, really it is true -- only the upper classes care to learn French in America. He said we must be upper class. He wasn't kidding -- he was dead serious! I did not want to agree with him, but I wanted him to know that this doesn't have anything to do with class -- it is simply a matter of education and a desire to learn. So, to be subtle about it, I said well, my husband is a professor. That seemed to satisfy him. I didn't want to say I'm a science writer, editor, and webmaster, because that would only confuse him. He probably doesn't know that those in the teaching profession don't make much money in America. But I don't think they do in France, either. Maybe eventually he'll figure it out. He switched back to the subject of working. I wondered if he was a spy, ready to report illegal workers to the authorities. I said we were just here for the summer. So you are really on vacation, he said. I said we read a lot, and we walk a lot. He asked if we were from New York. We are often asked this question. I think that this is because either 1) Parisians think most of the people in the U.S. live in NYC or its vicinity, as by far most French people live in Paris or in the region around it, or 2) Parisians are only interested in New York, and couldn't care less about the other states. However, whenever I say we live in Florida, I get positive reactions. The insurance salesman wanted to know more. Fortunately, I have learned how to describe were we live, in French. I told him we live on a subtropical island way, way south in Florida, on the opposite coast from Miami (they all know about Miami, but they pronounce it mee-ah-mee, no syllable accented -- I didn't even recognize it when I first heard it years ago). I told him the name of the island is Sanibel. He said he had never heard of it. He said, "Oh, but you live there by yourselves? You are very lucky to have a whole island." I said no, it is a village. I told him that it is very hot and humid there in the summer, and we are city people who love Paris, so it is good for us to get away from Sanibel and to come to Paris for the summer. He was delighted with this concept. We chatted for just a little while longer, and then he said, in English, "thank you for talking to me, and for taking to me so well." He wasn't flirting; he was just being friendly. He wanted to have a conversation with an American. This must be how he learns about Americans. Problem is, he spends most of his time telling the American about Americans instead of gleaning real information from them. The conversation was fine with me. I am very interested in knowing more about what people here really think about Americans. And I'm much too cautious to ask anyone directly about what they think of Americans. I was flabberghasted by the "person on the street" interviews in Le Parisien the other day. The question asked had to do with the action taken against the Russian who influenced the French judge in the figure skating competition in last winter's Olympics. An 8-page report by an FBI agent was the inspiration of the accompanying news story. Five people on the streets of Paris were asked: What do you think inspired this special examination of the figure skating results? Three of the five said that the U.S. authorities were wrong to step in. [Uh, excuse me, but isn't Salt Lake City in the U.S.? We are talking about an alleged crime that allegedly took place on American soil? Isn't that the business of the FBI? Helloooo?] Yet, one man said, "The Americans always want to be the gendarmes of the world." A woman said, "The Americans denounce the methods that they practice themselves. I think that there is an anti-French sentiment developing on the other side of the Atlantic and all it is good for is to raise the mayonaisse." I don't understand the idiom "to raise the mayonaisse" [monter la mayonaisse], but I get the picture. Another woman said "The Americans seek to reign over all the world, sportive and otherwise." Fortunately, two wise French people, one man and one woman, gave answers that had nothing to do with blaming the Americans for anything. They simply were bemoaning the fact that there is so much corruption in sport, and that figure skating has been tainted by this affair. However, the man said, "the people will forget quickly." C'est la vie.
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