You will meet three different types of people in Paris: tourists, Parisians, and banlieusards. It’s actually quite easy to tell them apart. Tourists go to the Eiffel Tower because it’s there. Parisians don’t go to the Eiffel Tower because it will be there next week. Banlieusards don’t go to the Eiffel Tower because they don’t have the time. When I lived in France, I was a banlieusarde; I didn’t take the elevator to the top of la Tour Eiffel until I was 21 years old and my (future) parents-in-law visited Paris for the first time. Our house was only 7 miles outside of Paris per se; I studied or worked in the city; I had a full schedule during the week, spent two hours (or more) in public transportation every day, and aspired to “stay put” during the weekend. Living in the suburbs, I was always dependent on the last métro, the last RER, the last commuter train to take me back home. It changes everything. It affects the way you experience Paris: you don’t really belong there, you’re just passing through. It was indeed a special treat when I could spend the night at a friend’s apartment in Paris: the accommodations were usually far from luxurious (!) but not feeling the pressure of having to get home was liberating: for one evening, I could feel and behave like a Parisian.
Actually, there is another type of people you might meet in Paris: parisophiles. They’re a rare breed and they’re hard to spot. They were not born in Paris but they chose that city. Maybe they started as tourists but felt such an intense connection that they were drawn back many times. They don’t just come for a week: they stay for a month or more. They don’t book hotels: they rent an apartment. They don’t go out for dinner every night: they shop the outdoor markets and cook “at home.” They have their favorite neighborhoods but they want to explore every nook and cranny of the city. They want to see and experience everything whether glamorous or ordinary, beautiful or ugly, historical or avant-garde, popular or secluded, permanent or pop-up. They have the luxury of time: they can afford to make mistakes and “waste” an afternoon at a so-so exhibit because tomorrow is another day… still in Paris.
I started out as a banlieusarde; I’ll never be a Parisian but I’ve become a parisophile. What about you? Who are you? Who do you aspire to be?
Vocabulary
Le (la) banlieusard(e): commuter, living in the suburbs.
THE ARRIVAL
It was 40 years ago and my dream had come true. Dad drove me to Roissy-CDG, the brand spanking new airport in Paris: so modern, so revolutionary, so efficient with its camembert design. I know, I know: it hasn’t aged well. I checked in my luggage and we walked together to my gate. Yes, Virginia, there was a time where friends and family could accompany you all the way to the boarding area. We joined the other six students from my business school who would be my traveling companions for the next two and a half months. A DC-8 operated by Martinair –a Dutch airline specializing in charter flights– took us to Amsterdam where we waited for three hours. Then on to Bangor, ME where we arrived before sunrise and waited for another three hours. Finally, we were off to California. Oakland to be precise, which in my mind was just a secondary airport for glorious San Francisco, like Orly had become for Paris.
July 18, 1977 and it was barely 7 am. As the wheels touched the tarmac, I noticed herds of jack rabbits racing with us on the grass patch separating the runways. How odd! I had been up for some thirty-five hours and thought I was perhaps hallucinating but my seatmate confirmed the sighting. After we deplaned a CIEE representative greeted us and shuttled us to the Oakland Hilton for an orientation meeting and a hearty breakfast: weak coffee (du jus de chaussette), steak and eggs (quoi? Au p’tit dej?), and Iceberg lettuce doused with "French" dressing (jamais plus!) Obviously, we were not in Kansas anymore… We had planned this trip for months and, two hours in, we quickly realized that we were not remotely prepared for the cultural challenges. But, hey, we were 19-20 years old and we would roll with the punches. Besides, we had our master plan. First order of business: purchase a used car, large enough to accommodate seven adults, their personal effects, and their camping gear; reliable enough to take us on a cross-country trip all the way to New York City; and affordable enough to fit a poor student budget. Piece of cake. Or so we had been told...
Continues at The Torino
Vocabulary
Le camembert: a famous cheese from Normandy. CDG1 is often referred to as a camembert because of its round, squatty shape
Le jus de chaussette: literally, sock juice; to qualify pale and tasteless coffee
Quoi: what
Le p’tit dej: short and familiar for le petit déjeûner, breakfast
Jamais plus: never again
TO MARKET, TO MARKET
France has not been immune to the transformation of the retail scene: big box stores and supermarkets ushered the sad decline of old-fashioned, family-owned specialty shops. But one tradition is holding steady: the weekly open-air markets. I simply love them, especially those in the countryside where just about everything offered is farmed or raised locally.
When my sister and her family moved to Grenade-sur-Garonne, our Saturday morning routine included a long visit to la halle, the medieval covered structure in the center of town. Farmers and vendors display their bounty under the tile roof and along the adjacent streets: mounds of tasty saucissons (made from a dozen different meats), regiments of disks and pyramids of chèvres perfectly lined up in their refrigerated cases, baskets of brown eggs with an occasional feather stuck to their shell, colorful bunches of cut flowers soaking in tall galvanized buckets, and produce galore. As a little game, I would ask my toddler nephews to identify and name every single légume we saw while filling our cabas. Afterwards, we’d grab an outdoor table at one of the cafés lining up the square and order un Ricard or un demi for the adults, une orangeade avec une paille for the younger set.
La halle de Grenade is quite remarkable: with its thirty-six octagonal brick pillars and massive oak carpentry, it was specifically built in the 13th century to hold a weekly market. Weights and measures were kept in one of the upstairs loges; another one was used as a workplace for the judge, the mayor, or the notaire. Pigeons still roost there.
In addition to the market, la halle is also the site of special events such as the famous “Sausage Fair” organized by the Confrèrie Gourmande et Joviale de la Saucisse de Grenade. Pageantry is served, along with endless arguments about the merits of the local sausage versus the one made in Toulouse, a mere 15 miles away…
Vocabulary
La halle: covered market
Le saucisson: dry cured sausage (like salami)
Le chèvre: goat cheese
Le légume: vegetable
Le cabas: old-fashioned grocery bag
Le Ricard: brand of a pastis drink
Le demi: draft beer
L’orangeade: water with orange syrup
Avec une paille: with a straw
Le notaire: a public officer who records contracts, property inheritance, wills and other documents in every area of law
BISTRO CHAIRS
Everybody dreams of taking a break, sitting en terrace, and watching the world go by while sipping une noisette, a glass of rosé, or a Perrier rondelle. And people actually do that in Paris: tourists, of course, but also the locals. Students gather in bistros year around as a more lively alternative to the library. Female friends meet for tea and a pastry in the afternoon. Others enjoy cocktails at Happy Hour. Some catch a film and finish off the night with moules frites and Belgian beer. Bistros are no mere watering holes: they also perform a social function.
And everybody sits in the ubiquitous rattan bistro chairs, without paying much attention to them. For more than 100 years, they’ve been part of the Parisian urban scenery as much as the Guimard métro entrances, the newspaper kiosks, and the Morris columns. All these chairs are made by two manufacturers: Maison Drucker (est. in 1885) and Maison Gatti (est. in 1920). You will occasionally find some cheap Chinese imitations but the authentic, made-in-France models will have a small brass plate attached to the frame: check it out next time you rest your tired derrière!
Although there are only two makers and they both use the same materials, the variations are almost infinite: different styles of frames, different patterns and dozens of colors for the seats and backs. The rattan is cut, steamed, bent, and assembled by hand. Rilsan (which comes from the castor oil plant) is dyed by injection and woven by skilled artisans: its color never fades even when exposed to the sun and it will sustain wide variations in temperatures without cracking. Although many famous cafés special order their “signature” chairs, there are enough choices for each neighborhood bistro to create its own look.
The popularity of these chairs doesn’t wane: they’re elegant, comfortable, light, and durable. And they stack so easily! Closing shop after a busy day is (almost) a breeze. Even Mr. Bear approves… Grab a chair and make a new friend.
Vocabulary
En terrace: on the terrace (where drinks will cost you more…)
Une noisette: an espresso shot with a touch of milk (lit. a hazelnut)
Perrier rondelle: a glass of Perrier with a slice of lemon
Moules frites: mussels and French fries
Le derrière: you know what that means; yes, you, do.