Mad Dogs and Frenchmen – Animal Drama on a Parisian Sidewalk

Dogs are rock stars in Paris.  They are conversation starters and inseparable companions for over 300,000 dog owners here (that’s about one dog for every 7 people).  Dogs are the real “social animals” in this fair city.  They actually make people talk to each other.  A recent magazine poll states that around 40% of the French consider their dogs more important than their lovers!  Now that’s saying something.

I recently witnessed just how “social” dogs can be when I observed a French lady and a Frenchman tie their mutually cute dogs to a couple of shopping caddies outside a local supermarket. You see, it’s not legal to bring your dog into a food store and many customers just leave them outside.

Charley with a "Y" and Brigitte - before they got all excited.
Charley with a “Y” and Brigitte – before they got all excited.

(That’s actually not legal either; but like I said, dogs are rock stars.)  The man and woman, who had just met, exchanged small talk about their dogs’ names.  The bigger dog was named Charley, with a “y”, the man explained – as if the dog really cared about how its name was spelled.  The smaller dog, the lady’s pet, was named Brigitte, after Brigitte Bardot, the most famous animal advocate in France.  The dog owners instructed their pets to say “bonjour” to each other while they themselves exchanged flirty little glances.  I definitely thought those two (the humans I mean) would hook up later on, once they had brought their groceries and dogs home, but, as fate and “social animals” would have it, that was not to be.

The man and lady separated in the market and went about doing their individual food business.  Suddenly, from the outside, we all heard the crunching of metal against metal and a very angry male voice screaming obscenities in French.  Dogs were barking wildly and the flirty pet owners ran out of the store to see what was happening.  I did the same; I could sense something blogworthy was about to happen.  I was right.

It seemed that, even though the dogs were tied to the caddies, the caddies were not secured.

The scene of the "Dog Day Afternoon" in Paris.
The scene of the “Dog Day Afternoon” in Paris.

So, once the dogs got through saying hello to each other as their owners had requested, they got a bit excited (just like their flirty owners had).  One of them broke loose and the other followed. However, they were both still attached to their respective empty caddies.  It was a hysterical scene to see their shopping carts rolling around haphazardly and hitting the side door of a new, black, shiny Porsche Cayenne SUV that was parked next to them.  The dogs panicked as the car owner started screaming.  So they moved more quickly and the metal kept screeching against the car.  Quite a few scratches and a couple of good-sized dents made their appearance on that vehicle before the pet owners could get a hold of their dogs.

Charley with a “Y” and Brigitte were finally released from their caddies and under the control of their respective owners but not before considerable esthetic damage had been done to the Porsche Cayenne.  The car guy now redirected his screaming to Monsieur and Madame; saying how they would have to pay for the damages.  He was getting the forms out of the glove compartment to report this incident.  Monsieur immediately said that Charley had nothing to do with it; it was all Brigitte’s fault.  Madame glared at the jerk she was flirting with ten minutes before.  She raised her voice as well.  There was no way she was going to fill out any form.  Accidents happen, that’s it.  She pulled on Brigitte’s leash and ordered her to sit quietly (at least the dog listened to her).

This heated discussion went on for a while with the supermarket manager and a cashier joining in the argument.  Car guy asked me if I could be a witness but, thankfully, I had only looked at the dogs and the owners before the side door smashing.  I was in the market when the dogs broke loose.  The angry man said he would call the police.

The Angry Conversation that the Doggie Drama started.
The Angry Conversation that the Doggie Drama started.

“Go ahead,” Monsieur answered.  “See what good that will do you!  You should have parked somewhere else.”

“The dogs should have parked somewhere else.  You have no right to leave your unattended dogs on the public sidewalk!”

The three adults involved in this doggie disaster got nastier and nastier.  Monsieur took out his cell phone to take a photo of the man and his car’s license plate.  Madame took a photo of Monsieur’s dog; he did the same to her pet.  Car guy took photos of his damaged side door and also of Monsieur and Madame.  I didn’t manage to get a photo of anyone (I’m technically challenged).

In the end, the police were called but Monsieur and Madame went their separate ways with their pets before the officers of the law showed up.  They were both enraged and went off in different directions.  No cell phones numbers were exchanged and no groceries were bought.  The closeness I thought they would have shared thanks to their dogs dissipated in the gray Paris sky.  So, in this case, the Parisian dogs did their part as conversation starters.  They just didn’t know when to stop.

Moo’s, Boo’s and Whistles in Paris – France’s Cash Cow Industry Speaks Out

     Even though the French equivalent of the Oscars, called the “Césars” and the Oscars themselves were happening this weekend, the real star of the show in Paris was not Leonardo di Caprio in LA or Michael Douglas in Paris.

Meet Cerise - Best Head Shot Ever for a Farm Fair Mascot
Meet Cerise – Best Head Shot Ever for a Farm Fair Mascot

The real star was “Cerise”, otherwise known as Cherry, the Bazadais cow from southwestern France who was the official mascot for this year’s International Agricultural Fair, a prestigious Parisian annual event which attracts about 700,000 people and a whole lot of animals.

Cerise must have been a bit surprised at the reception she received on the pre-opening hours of the Farm Fair – at 6:45 on that Saturday morning. She was expecting to have a one-on-one, face-to-face encounter with Francois Hollande, the president of France. The President made it to the Fair, but could not get anywhere near her. Cerise heard the boos and whistles and the insults that invaded the Expo Hall that morning. She knew that was not a good sign. Cerise also heard the destruction of stands that had just been assembled the day before. She looked for her owner, Bernard, to explain the chaos to her but she was left alone in a corner for a long, long time. (She later saw Bernard on the evening news. He was an integral part of that chaos. He could have let her in on it before he took off like that.)

The Salon mascot looked up at the television monitors and witnessed the pandemonium. She felt bad for the President. She was looking forward to meeting him. That’s pretty much why she accepted this role as mascot – for the prestige of getting a nod, a compliment and maybe even a pat on the behind from the Head of State. But Cerise knew from the conversations she overheard back home that these were very difficult times for her family of farmers. She knew they were justified in giving the President and the Agricultural Minister such a hard time. But, Cerise still wanted to see the President in person. Since she couldn’t, she listened to his speech instead.

No one could get near the French President at the Farm Fair.
No one could get near the French President at the Farm Fair.

Mr. Hollande said that he heard the cries of distress from the farmers and that he would do something about it. He blamed the overproduction of wheat and the Russian embargo. He would change the laws to make it better. “The whole country of France suffers when agriculture suffers”, he said. Cerise agreed with that comment. Her milk was worth less and less every day. But it was really good quality stuff. How could France continue to make the best cheese in the world if it did not also produce the best milk? Something had to change.

Cerise saw more police in one hour at the Agricultural Salon than she had seen in her entire lifetime. They were blocking the way of the President and steering him in a direction far from her. She saw on the TV that he was actually petting a different cow on the other end of the fair. She was beginning to regret ever having entered this mascot beauty contest. What was the point of winning first prize if she didn’t even get to say hi to the First Guy of France?

The beautiful, pregnant Ayem Nour speaking for all the cows of France.
The beautiful, pregnant Ayem Nour speaking for all the cows of France.

Then she saw a TV presenter who wanted to send a message to the President.  The lady’s name was Ayem Nour and she was very much pregnant. Her message to Francois Hollande went like this – “In the name of all the cows in France, please know that we are very happy to see you. Love you President.” Cerise agreed. But she still hoped the President would come back to see her for that “tête-à-tête”. After all, she was the Star of the Show.

Dealing with Terrorism in the New French Way of Life

In the aftermath of the November 13th horrific terrorist attacks on Paris, there have been many political speeches and social networking conversations that are using the word “war”.   They say we are at war here in France.  That the assault on Paris was a “game changer”.

The very much respected French way of life.
The very much respected French way of life.

That nothing will ever be the same.  That we all have to change our attitude.  We all have to be vigilant.  We all have to work together to catch and neutralize the barbarians who have threatened the French way of life, the French “joie de vivre”.

One politician said we urgently need a French Patriot Act.  The same one said we should also follow the post-911 guidance of “See Something, Say Something”.  I believed him.  So, when I actually did see something a few days after the Parisian murders, I did say something.  And the whole process scared the wits out of me.   Here’s what happened.

I was walking on a Parisian avenue in the middle of the day and happened to notice a piece of paper on the ground in the middle of fallen leaves.  I don’t really know why I picked it up but I did.  It had something written on it that, in line with the recent terrorist events, was more than a bit troubling. I put it in my pocket and went home to think about it.

I called a few family members and friends and asked them if they thought I should bring it to the attention of the French authorities.

Logo of the National Police in France.
Logo of the National Police in France.

They all agreed it would be a good idea and encouraged me to call the police.  When I called the police and explained what I found, they told me to come to the station and do a “declaration de main courante”, which basically means going on record.  I have had reason to do that sort of thing before when I had my checkbook stolen; lost my passport, etc. and it was always an excruciating exercise in witnessing the inefficient French administration at work.  But I thought it would be different now – now that we were at war and we all have to work together towards a common goal of saving this country and its citizens.  I was wrong.

First off, there was a waiting period of at least an hour while I witnessed one policewoman yelling at an adolescent who fabricated an aggression just so he could cut class.  He now wanted to come clean and take back his declaration.  She had no idea how to handle this and was, of course, upset that the kid lied in the first place (as was his father and everyone else in the station).  In the meantime, I felt my possible evidence should have given me priority over this teenager who actually came in after me.  But I have lived in France for 25 years now; I have learned to be patient and polite in administrative situations.  So I waited.

Finally, a policeman came and led me into a back office to type up my declaration.  I spent an uneasy 10 minutes telling him who I was; where I live; why I live in France, etc. while he typed away at 1 mile an hour.  I was anxious to give him the paper and spar the police into action.  I had what could be an important clue in my pocket.  Could he please hurry up?

“So what is it you have?” he finally asked me.

I showed him the paper.  He looked at it with a puzzled expression on his face and showed it to his boss, the policewoman who had been yelling at the teenager.

She replied sharply, with a typical French down-putting attitude in her voice, “What the hell do you expect me to do with a piece of paper?”

I told her she might want to show it to the people who were taking care of the attack investigation and she just clicked her tongue and snarled, pretty much calling me an idiot for even thinking that this could be useful.  And, might I remind you, she was the police station chief.

When the boss turned her back on me, I thought it was time for me to leave but the police officer took my statement and kept the paper.  So I did go on record but I was totally convinced that this was an exercise in futility and that disturbed me almost as much as the threat of more violence in Paris.  Perhaps what I found was useless but perhaps not.  In either case, I was doing my civic duty and, even if she thought it was useless, she could have been professional about it.  The fact that my life might be in her hands at this time was definitely unsettling.

French Hotline number to call with any terrorist-related information.
French Hotline number to call with any terrorist-related information.

In the end, I called the Terrorist Attack Hotline number which has been put into place in France (it is 197).  I explained once more what I had found and, at least, the lady I spoke to sounded interested.  She took all the information I had already put on record and assured me someone would follow up on it.  As I mentioned before, what I found could be nothing but that’s not for me to decide.  I saw something and I said something. And, finally, someone in authority actually listened.

The moral of this story is, if France is at war, everyone needs to change their attitude.  That includes the politicians, the citizens and the local authorities. peopleIf this is a game changer for us all, police administrative business-as-usual cannot work.  Citizens need to be alert and report potentially dangerous or strange situations.  True, we all have to walk that fine line between paranoia and vigilance.  But, as part of dealing with terrorism, we all have to pay attention in our daily lives.  And the police have to listen.


The Global Politics of Parisian Public Toilets

The pretty-much localized Parisian institution of “Madame Pipî” is about to go global and it’s not a pretty site.  You would know who Madame Pipi is if you have ever used a public toilet in one of Paris’s mandatory monuments such as Sacre Coeur, Notre Dame or Etoile or in one of the main train stations like Gare de Nord, Gare de Lyon, etc.  They are the ladies who take your 50 centimes and give you a toilet token.

Madame Pipi at work.
Madame Pipi at work.

They clean and manage the city’s public toilet facilities.  In doing so, they represent a veritable French institution that dates back to the late 19th century.  Their thankless job is not an easy one – they work long hours in dark (and sometimes smelly) places; handle all sorts of strange clients. They are paid minimum wage and, obviously, their job is not a pleasant one.  But it’s a job they want to keep.  And eleven of these ladies are taking their case to court.

The court the cleaning agents solicited in September 2015 is France’s Prud’Homme, which is the Labor Relations Board.

The Sacre Cœur cleaning agents protesting the loss of their jobs.
The Sacre Cœur cleaning agents protesting the loss of their jobs.

This all started in July of this year when their old employer, “STEM”, a sanitation company, lost its municipal contract to “2theloo”, a Dutch firm. The women are demanding the salary they have lost since July and the restitution of their old jobs.  The French Labor Laws do state that if a company is bought by another company, the new boss is obliged to keep the old employees.  When the city of Paris awarded the sanitary facilities contract to the Dutch company “2theloo”, they hoped that would happen.  However, this new boss says that “2theloo” is not a cleaning company (as was the case with STEM), therefore, this law does not apply. The new guy in town says that “2theloo” is a concept store.

I thought that branding a toilet cleaning company as a “concept store” was a new concept in and of itself until I did a little research.  The marketing angle of “2theloo” is that they want your public bathroom experience to be better and more memorable than your private toilet usage at home.  They have themes for different bathrooms.

Now here's an interesting concept - relieving yourself with Bambi watches.
Now here’s an interesting concept – relieving yourself with Bambi watches.

They have fluorescent-colored toilet paper.  They charge more.  They sell toilet-related goodies (did I say that?) and need their employees to speak English, something that is not in “Madame Pipi’s” job description at the present time.

“2theloo” has an interesting slogan – “bigger, better, bolder”. Their toilets are more spacious, soundproof (now that’s a plus) and 100% non-touch (not quite sure what they mean by that). They even offer a make-up area. “2theloo” is selling a bathroom experience and Madame Pipi was only selling necessary physical relief that needed to be sanitary and

Just a sample of what you can buy at the concept store -- glow-in-the-dark toilet paper.
Just a sample of what you can buy at the concept store — glow-in-the-dark toilet paper.

efficient but not necessarily pleasant.  That approach has worked for a couple of centuries but that’s simply not the case anymore.  The keeping-people-employed concept has indeed changed.

I have not yet sampled the “2theloo” bathroom experience out of solidarity for these women and their ongoing trial.  The former STEM cleaning agents lost the first round in September but are appealing and should have their second court date shortly.  The city of Paris says they will offer them other employment within the municipality but that has yet to be formalized.  In the meantime, they are out of work even though they were doing their job.

With the demise of Madame Pipi, Paris will lose its unique, personal approach to the public toilet experience.  “2theloo” will replace the historic touch with a commercial, heartless one. “2theloo” might be bigger, better, bolder. But it just won’t be Parisian.  And that’s a global shame.

Pigalle – The Legendary Parisian Playground

My own version of a “Paris by Night” tour always includes a stroll around Pigalle, the most intriguing area of the French capital. I take my tourist friends there for a good, inexpensive meal on one of the side streets; a visit to the bistro on rue Lepic where the movie “Amelie” was filmed; or a jazz concert in an authentic two-hundred-year-old acoustically perfect “cave”. We stop for the obligatory photo session in front of the Moulin Rouge. We do not pay the exorbitant entrance fee. We take a seat on one of the sidewalk terraces nearby and I give my tourists a decadent history lesson about the most famously infamous cabaret in the world. Now this lesson is for you.

More than a hundred years ago, the Pigalle area, and especially the Moulin Rouge was a living movie, filled with amazing characters from all walks of life and social circles. The Moulin Rouge (literally translated as Red Mill) was built in 1889 by Joseph Oller

Joseph Oller, one of the driving forces behind "La Belle Epoque".
Joseph Oller, one of the driving forces behind “La Belle Epoque”.

and Charles Zidler. By the way, Joseph Oller was also the inventor of “pari mutuel”, which is basically bookmaking.   He built the racetracks at Maisons-Laffitte and Alma and his betting structure was the predecessor of today’s French state-controlled betting system, the PMU, or Pari Mutuel Urbain – but that’s another story.

Anyway, when betting became illegal, Joseph concentrated on developing music halls and theatres, investing in the Moulin Rouge and other well-known venues such as the Olympia and Salle Pleyel, which still exist today. The Moulin Rouge became the temple of music and dance, the home of the French Can-Can and THE place to go for an evening of daring dancing and risqué relaxation. It was immoral maybe, especially for the beginning of the 20th century, but the Moulin Rouge exuded a joie de vivre that was no less than euphoric.

French can can
And yes, they Can….Can!

The army of young ladies who performed there were skilled, free-wheeling, flexible artists – almost acrobatic in their approach to the Can-Can – jumping and splitting as easily as giant rubber bands. They were gaily provocative, waving their white skirts in the air and showing their clingy underwear, a bit of skin and black garters. All of this was quite shocking at the time and a bit comic when you think of the topless, practically nude dancers who work there today.

There were many loyal customers of the Moulin Rouge. The most famous one, the French artist, Toulouse Lautrec, had his own table. He never paid for anything and immortalized the ambiance and clientele of the Moulin Rouge with his sketches and paintings. He was inspired by a couple of legendary Moulin Rouge dancers – Jane Avril (who was known for being discreet and nimble) and Louise Weber, nicknamed “La Goulue” who could take off a man’s hat with her foot while dancing!

The dancer "La Goulue" getting ready to do her famous hat trick as depicted in this famous Toulouse Lautrec lithograph.
The dancer “La Goulue” getting ready to do her famous hat trick as depicted in this famous Toulouse Lautrec lithograph.

The Moulin Rouge had its ups and downs; closed from time to time; burnt down in 1921 but was rebuilt soon after. It was known as “Pig Alley” right after WWII, when it was the epicentre of the Parisian red light district. It is just a tourist business now, without the energetic “joie de vivre” that was there at its origin. People are bus loaded in for the show at eye-boggling numbers. Each revue runs for 10 – 12 years and costs between 7 to 9 million euros to produce. The present revue is called “Féerie” which translates to “Extravaganza”. The next Moulin Rouge review will start just before Christmas 2015. The new show will be called “Flash”. For some unknown reason, every Moulin Rouge show begins with a “F” (no comment here).

There are other daring establishments to visit in Pigalle – things like erotic supermarkets and raunchy peep shows. I recently (and for the first time, really) went to the Musée de l’Erotisme on the Boulevard de Clichy. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was surprised at how boring it was. The place itself was more like a gallery of phallic carvings and religious artwork from India, Japan and Africa – interesting but not really exciting. No “joie de vivre” there, just a historical account of fertility symbols and erotic skeletons. There were some exquisite relics but, frankly, the Louvre is a better buy for the money.

Pigalle, where the adults come out to play.
Pigalle, where the adults come out to play.

The real fun in Pigalle lies in just walking around with an open mind (and your wallet safely out of pickpocket reach). Imagine what it was like over a hundred of years ago with bawdy laughter, music, dance, wine-tinged camaraderie and no tourist buses. Imagine Pigalle as a Parisian playground, an adult amusement park, the first of its kind and the only one worthy of becoming a legend.


Tasting Tips for the French Wine Connoisseur Wannabe

ad.foire aux vins
This is the event that French parents look forward to once the kids are back in school in September.

Now that parents have depleted their school supply budget and the kids are safely back in their respective institutions, the Parisians are ready to party. The first sign of this is the hype for the traditional “Foire aux Vins”, or “Wine Fair” which starts in mid-September and lasts for two weeks. There are wine tastings everywhere – private homes (beats a Tupperware party), supermarket retailers, wine store chains and farmers’ markets (my favorite). A wine consumer really gets to consume before they buy at this time of year. It could be overwhelming for those of you who aren’t used to the many facets of wine. So, here are some tips for the wine-tasting neophyte.

  1. Look before you leap – Take a good look at the wine you have poured into that glass; observe and enjoy its color. Look beyond the usual suspects of red, white or pink. Is it ruby, maroon, purple or brownish? For white wines, is it pale, yellow, golden, straw-colored? Is it opaque, cloudy, translucent?
  2. Tilt and Swirl – Tilt your glass slightly and give that wine a gentle swirl. Look for traces of sediment, which is a sign of an aged wine. Older reds might have more of an orangey tinge on the outside as you swirl; older whites would be darker. The swirling aerates the wine, which will release its aroma. The secret of the perfect swirl? Be gentle and don’t stand near anyone who is wearing white.
  3. Smell and Sigh – Well, maybe, just smell. The aroma of the wine will conjure up fruity memories of raspberry, blackberry, gooseberry or black currant. You might also smell vanilla, oak or citrus. Enjoy it – smell once, smell twice. Your nose will
    Get that nose in there — smelling is believing!


  4. Taste and Savour – Now, taste the wine, really taste it. Remember, you drink water but you taste wine. So, take your time. If the wine doesn’t stay long enough in your mouth, you cannot appreciate its magnitude. Sip it first, letting the wine spread across your tongue. Swish it from front to back and side to side before finally swallowing. Let its acidity, tannin and depth explode in your mouth. And let it linger.
  5. After-taste – Once you have imbibed the wine, it’s time to pay attention to how long it lingers. Can you still taste it on the back of your mouth or throat? Is the taste sweet, acidic? Like butter, fruit, flower or oak? Do you like it? Do you want more?
  6. Discover your preferences – There is no wine that satisfies everyone’s palate so it’s to time to pay attention to yours. Know what you like. Tastes can vary from fruit, leather, wood, spices, nuts, vanilla or any combination of these. Pick your favorite flavour from the wonderful range of options.
  7. Write and remember – I can’t tell you how many times I have tasted
    One needs to jog their oenological memory - especially during the French Wine Fair.
    One needs to jog their oenological memory – especially during the French Wine Fair.

    a wonderful wine only to forget its name the morning after. So, keep a paper and pen handy when you embark on your wine-tasting adventure and write down the ones that you liked and want to buy again and again.

  8. Buy It – The Wine Fair in France in September is a great time to buy – in wine store chains or even in huge supermarkets such as Carrefour or Auchan.
    Just buy it already -- lots of it!
    Just buy it already — lots of it!

    At a supermarket, you might not be able to taste everything you would like to so here’s a little hint. Buy a bottle that you think would be a good bargain; drink it the same day. If you like it, go back and get a case or two before they all sell out. Have a party or get a wine cellar. Whatever you do, enjoy it. Wine and dine your lover, family or friends – or yourself. You know you’re worth it!

Monetizing a Smile and Driving a Parisian Taxi at the Same Time

I have discovered that the Parisians are changing their attitude about service industries – the recent Parisian taxi drivers versus Uber Pop clash being a prime example. But others will come. The French client is demanding that the people who they pay dearly to drive them in, out and around this beautiful city of Paris should actually be nice. Believe me, this is a game changer.

This smile will become very common as taxi drivers "adjust" to client demand.
This smile will become very common as taxi drivers “adjust” to client demand.

I have been alternating between using official Parisian taxis and Uber-driven vehicles since the conflict began. I have French taxi driver friends and I can understand their frustration at having to pay a hefty fee (it could reach as much as 100,000 dollars) and suddenly having to compete with chauffeurs who have paid nothing for the privilege of transporting clients in France. It’s not fair but hey, what is?

Before Uber came along, the cab drivers upheld their sterling reputation of being grouchy, unavailable and super-selective on whom they put in their cab (I’ve seen them refuse babies…and allow dogs). Almost every Parisian I know has a nasty cab story to tell. Some chauffeurs don’t have change for a fifty euro bill but do not accept credit cards. They add on charges for suitcases and early pick-up times. They come ten minutes earlier than their appointed time; start the meter and charge you extra for being on time.

Parisian taxis blocking the road in one of several "Uber Go Home" demonstrations.
Parisian taxis blocking the road in one of several demonstrations.

They go on strike fairly often, holding the customers hostage. Trying to find a cab in Paris in the rain is tantamount to waiting for hell to freeze over. The client was not “king” of the road when it came to taxis. The drivers made all the choices. Take it or leave it. Their government-backed monopoly gave them wings. Ah, but in the commercial sky of free enterprise, those wings are flapping out of control.

Taxi services will change in France because the attitude of the consumer is changing. Thanks to the likes of Uber, LeCab and other private vehicle start-ups, the French now have choices. And they are finding that having a smiling driver is a good thing. There is no longer any reason to “put up” with bad service. Now, they can leave it and get something better in its place. If I were a French taxi driver, I would read the writing on the wall really quickly – and make a uturn into the waiting arms of Uber or any other private transportation company. If you can’t beat them, join them.

I took an Uber a couple of weeks ago and was surprised to hear the chauffeur’s story. He is a bona fide Parisian taxi driver but he’s young and internet savvy and figured it out before his colleagues did. He has put his French taxi license up for sale and, in the meantime, he’s driving for Uber. He likes how easy it is – says he has more freedom over his life and he actually enjoys meeting his clients and making sure they are satisfied with his service. I was amazed – a French person wanting to provide good customer service is as rare as a three-euro bill here. But this new attitude will multiply. It has to or the French taxi drivers will just go out of business. Pure and simple.

I am looking forward to this impending change in attitude in taxi drivers.

We lile Parisian taxis but we're gonna love them when they start being nice!
We like Parisian taxis but we’re gonna love them when they start being nice!

It’ll be a lot more fun when the Frenchman taking me for a ride has a smile on his face. It doesn’t matter if he’s driving for Uber or for Parisian taxis. He will be nice because he finally understood that being nice has its advantages – the biggest of which will be his pay check. He will be smiling all the way to the bank.

France – A Nation on Vacation

There is a Parisian phenomenon that happens every August which I have grown to really appreciate. Paris, this huge, bustling city, full of traffic, pollution, cranky commuters and noise turns into a classy ghost town. The Parisians have all headed south where they are sure to find the sun and, consequently, leave their city in the hands of happy tourists – and me. It’s heaven.

This exodus, of course, is their annual summer vacation, a holiday break as sacred as Christmas. It is not only obligatory to take off 4 – 5 weeks in the summer; it is also obligatory to leave. Any Parisian worth his salt takes off somewhere.

Head south if you want to find Parisians -- here's where they are.
Head south if you want to find Parisians — here’s where they are.

The ones who stay (and really, there are not that many) enjoy free parking in the city streets (since the meter maids also go on holiday), little traffic and urban serenity (now, doesn’t that sound like an oxymoron!). The ones who leave do so with a smile on their face and absolutely no guilt in their hearts. They are doing what every red-blooded Frenchman has to do – they are, pure and simply, obeying the law – with a passion.

French law guarantees a minimum of 5 weeks vacation, usually starting from the first day of your new job. Then, you can add to that twelve annual legal holidays. Also, pack on a couple of weeks due to the 35-hour work week, with no overtime allowed, and you can easily spend two out of twelve months on holiday. The average number of vacation days in France is 38. The days are not cumulative, so you “use them or lose them” at the end of each year and the French definitely choose the first option. Oh, and did I mention that these are PAID vacation days?

Here's a sign you will see on many shop windows in Paris -- "Closed for Vacation".  It's the law!
Here’s a sign you will see on many shop windows in Paris — “Closed for Vacation”. It’s the law!

The French do not feel privileged to have all this paid, free time off. They accept it as their legal right and support the opinion that they work better because of the break. According to my friend Marie-Claire, you need at least 4 weeks to really “recharge your batteries”. She explained that during the first week, you are still working “in your head” and you only start to relax during the second and third week. And during the fourth week, you mentally prepare for going back to work. So, from her perspective, her 4-week holiday is only 2 weeks long. I like her math skills.

This Vacation Attitude has always delighted and fascinated me at the same time. At a recent office coffee break conversation, I was once again telling my colleagues how lucky they were to even envisage taking such a long break in the summer, something unthinkable in the United States. One of them asked me why that is – why don’t Americans LIKE vacation? It struck me as a bizarre question.

“Of course we like vacations,” I answered him. “We just don’t have them, never did have them, and we would probably feel guilty if we ever did have them.”

“So you prefer to work 24/7 – that’s your choice,” Philippe answered in his quip French way.

He also continued to explain how the French vacation period is good for the nation’s economy. People are practically forced to spend money. Some companies even give their employees more money for their vacation period – something to help with the extra expenses that are incurred – you know, like for snorkelling gear, apartment rentals, mojitos on the beach, stuff like that. Local commerce needs that – a one week holiday just wouldn’t be enough. A long vacation period is a win-win situation for the whole country.

I told Philippe I wasn’t completely certain about his vacation attitude logic but I would think about it and we could discuss it further the next day.

“Ah, not tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going on vacation. I’m going to rest and relax for the good of my job and for the good of my country. It is my duty.”

Et voila – Philippe taking his well-deserved French vacation.

So, in the month of August, millions of Frenchmen are off to sea and sun, to the mountains, to their family’s country home in Normandy or even to the top of the Empire State Building. And Paris becomes an abandoned, sprawling metropolis, the deserted capital of a Nation on Vacation.

Rural Romance – Finding Love in a French Haystack

I rented a car this week and ventured outside of the Paris capital to catch a glimpse of the seaside before it is invaded by vacationers. On the way there, I was amazed at how close the country is to the city. Whatever direction you might take on your way out of the French capital, in less than a 30 minute drive, you will start seeing endless fields of grain, corn or other crops bordered by green pastures and grazing cows. The cows might be white or brown or black and white depending on what direction you take, but they will always be there watching you watching them.

The surface of France is 48% rural and France is the top agricultural country in the European Union. It is a star producer of wheat, sugar, wine (of course!), milk and dairy products (over 300 kinds of cheeses), fruits, vegetables and poultry. But, as I was driving along the magnificent countryside, I was wondering – where are the farmers?   I didn’t see a soul in any of the fields I passed. And then, on Monday evening, I got my answer. They’re on TV.

Here's the pretty presenter getting comfy in the haystack.
Here’s the pretty presenter getting comfy in the haystack.

It was a coincidence, really. In general, I do not watch reality television shows in any country. But it was raining and that was all there was to do in the sleepy seaside town I landed in – and I had been thinking about farmers all day. It was destiny throwing me some crumbs of entertainment, which I totally enjoyed.

The show is called “L’Amour est dans le Pré”, which literally translates into “Love is in the Meadow”. It’s a spin-off from the original UK series that is called “Farmer Wants a Wife.” You must admit that the French title is a bit more glamorous than the British one, a clear tribute to France’s romantic reputation. When you think about it, farmers would most certainly need a little help in the love department. The daily schedule for agricultural workers is pretty hectic. They wake up early; go to bed even earlier and spend most of their day with machines and animals. Their routine leaves little time for dating so it’s only natural that they turn to reality TV for a little help in the matchmaking department.

Here's one of this season's Love Crop.
Here’s one of this season’s Love Crop.

It works like this. The farmers are introduced to the public in January and would-be wives and lovers send in letters, actual hand-written letters, in which they pour out their hearts in the hopes of being one of the ten candidates who are chosen in the first round. Then, there is a televised speed-dating session in which the rural bachelors and bachelorettes narrow it down to only two candidates who subsequently get to spend a week on the farm. The week is really “up close and personal” – sometimes both candidates are there at the same time, which could make for colourful entertaining.

This year marks the 10th season for “L’Amour est dans le Pré ” and the first time that a gay farmer, Guillaume, joined the love search party. However, he didn’t last long. He made it through the speed dating part but got cold feet soon after and abandoned the show…much to the dismay of his handsome would-be partners.

This summer’s show is now down to 12 farmers – 10 men and 2 women.

Women farmers look for love in the meadow too.
Women farmers look for love in the meadow too.

It has just started and there already are serious internet forums about “Who is Your Favorite Farmer?” This year’s “crop” (no pun intended) is a handsome one with various interests. They breed cows and horses; raise pigs; make wine and cheese and range in age from 25 – 64. They are fun to watch and the scenery that goes along with the program is gorgeous. “L’Amour est dans le Pré” has a great track record too. Out of the 111 farmers whose search for love has been documented in the past nine seasons, 60 of them are now living with a partner; 14 of them are married; and 32 children have been born and 2 more are on the way. Love statistics speak louder than words.

“L’Amour est dans le Pré”, with its record-breaking 6.3 million viewers, is second only to soccer in popularity. After watching just one episode, I can totally understand that. And I know that I will be looking really closely the next time I drive by a meadow. You never know what might be hiding behind a haystack – especially a French one.

Biking in Paris – A Rolling Social Network

What weighs 24 kilos, is environmentally friendly, inexpensive and will get you where you want to go while working your thighs at the same time?   It’s a bicycle rented from Vélib, the Parisian program that was inaugurated in 2007.   If you have been to Paris in the last few years, you have certainly seen these gray metallic monsters proudly parading the expansive avenues of the French capital. They are everywhere, day and night, 24/7. They are ridden by jocks in sneakers and Mademoiselles with their Gucci bag in the basket and stiletto heels on their feet.

Vélib is practical, becoming stylish and, believe it or not, is turning into a rolling social network.

Not that cute but oh so practical!
Not that cute but oh so practical!

     There were sceptics when Vélib first began. Those were the guys who talked about how ugly the bikes are; too heavy and too complicated. But now there are 26 million bike rentals yearly; 20,000 bikes available at 1,600 cycle racks in Paris. Add to that the 370 kilometres of safe bicycle paths you have in this city and you can see that Vélib has turned into a community with members of all ages and all walks of life. If you work your wheels right, it sure beats speed-dating. Let me explain.

First off, you can meet people at the bike stand as they try to figure out the system. The rental system, as it is sooo French, is an administrative labyrinth full of complicated questions, codes and button-pressing. You can visit the Vélib website ( beforehand to get really savvy about the system and volunteer to help a frazzled man or

Is she your bike-riding princess?
Is she your bike-riding princess?

woman who looks like someone you would like to hang out with. The complexity of the system is a great ice-breaker and an easy, really easy conversation starter for the shy ones out there.

You could try and meet a policeman by simply running a red light, biking on a sidewalk or totally ignoring one-way street signs. I met a handsome French officer once while riding on a bicycle path actually minding my own business.   He whistled at me and very politely asked me to get off my bike. I thought that he was then going to suggest a coffee, but instead he told me I was going the wrong way on a bicycle path and if I didn’t get start walking the bike right then and there, he would be obliged to give me a ticket and a fine. I pleaded ignorance (which was the truth) and asked him where the right path was. We did have a pleasant conversation (no coffee though).

Now, parking your Vélib bicycle can be problematic – but there’s a golden opportunity right there. In very touristic areas of Paris – like Le Marais, St Germain des Pres or Le Jardin des Tuileries, it can be nearly impossible to find an empty spot in the bicycle rack. That’s when you wait for someone to come along to take out a bike so you can park yours. And there you have another conversation-starter. You can commiserate about the Vélib system together and actually communicate with another human being on a human level. Bikers do not get as upset as car drivers do when looking for a parking space. And since you are both biking, you already have something in common.

A rolling view of the Eiffel Tower -- pretty cool!
A rolling view of the Eiffel Tower — pretty cool!

You gotta start somewhere.

The only negative social experience I have had after five years of Vélib-ing is on the phone with a Vélib agent. I did not understand in the beginning that you really should not keep your Vélib bike for more than it takes to get from Point A to Point B since the rental price increases substantially after the initial hour. So, the first time out, I just locked the bike to a tree when I stopped and turned it in at the end of the day. The bill was for 19 euros and, of course, I thought it was an accounting mistake. The Vélib agent pretty much insulted me on the phone for being stupid. He told me if I wanted a bike I should go buy one – that Vélib was meant for short rides only. I asked his name; he wouldn’t tell me. I told I didn’t like his attitude; he said he didn’t care. I told him I hoped this conversation was being recorded for quality purposes; again he said he didn’t care. I hung up angry and disappointed, just like after a really bad date.

Roll right out of bed and into the streets of Paris.
Roll right out of bed and into the streets of Paris.

But don’t let that story discourage you. Paris is a gorgeous city to bike in and Vélib-ing it might even help your social life. The quays of the Seine are closed to traffic on Sundays and holidays and there are hundreds of bikers out there – so the next time you’re in Paris, get out there and enjoy the ride. You never know where a simple bike might take you.