I was in the downtown area near the Opera house today to do some shopping, and I brought along a list of bistros from my guidebook so I would have a place for lunch. That neighborhood has a lot of touristy restaurants that aren't very good so you have to be careful.
All of them were closed.
The French small-business owner has a different attitude toward the profit motive than the rest of us. Most of the restaurants close for at least part of the weekend, often all of it, even though you would think that would normally be the most profitable time.
But here the attitude seems to be that it's not about profit so much as enjoying life. If you're making a good living, why work harder for more money at the cost of time to enjoy it?
That attitude also seems to underlie the "conge," or annual vacation. It's quite common here for a shop or restaurant to just close up for three weeks, leaving only a sign in the window saying "Fermeture -- conges annuels" with the date of their expected return.
In Paris this tends to happen in August, when everyone flees to the countryside and leaves the city to the tourists. In Provence, to which many of the Parisians flee in August, the conges tend to happen in January, as Joey and I discovered to our dismay last week. In Arles, the smallest of the towns we stayed in, we nearly didn't find anyplace to have dinner. Fortunately, the most expensive, Michelin-starred restaurant in town was open and we had one of the best meals of our lives. But it was either that or pizza.
I think it would actually do Manhattanites good to close up shop and move to the Hamptons or Fire Island or the Catskills for the entire month of August. But unfortunately, it will never happen.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
On the Road
Up until now, I hadn't spent much time at all on French roads -- I've traveled almost exclusively by Metro or long-distance train. But this past week in Provence gave a good taste of it.
There is an extensive motorway system linking the major cities. The highways are new and very well-maintained. The speed limit is 130 kph, or about 80 mph. Most of the roads are toll roads; by American standards the tolls are a bit expensive (4 to 6 euros, or $5.50 to $7.50, for an hour's drive), but worth it for the quality of the road.
Gas is between $5.50 and $6 a gallon, but the gas stations aren't American-style fortresses; you pump your gas and then go in and pay, without (usually) having to insert a credit card or make a deposit first.
The French love traffic circles, which appear at just about every intersection outside the central cities. This isn't just a weird attempt to ape the British; it turns out that they're safer and cause less air pollution than intersections with traffic lights. It seems we will be seeing more of them in the United States for those reasons.
It's when you get into the cities that things become a bit difficult. French cities, of course, were built long before the invention of the automobile. Many city streets are too narrow for two-way traffic and, except for the major Parisian boulevards, they seldom go in a straight line for long.
The French have tried to solve this problem by copiously signing city streets with signs pointing in the direction of major destinations. And by and large, the system works. But see if you can spot the flaw in this system from this picture:
As long as your destination is on one of these signs, you can get there. But what if you're looking for a specific address on a specific street? Do you see the street sign at this intersection, and even if you see it can you read it from your car?
Look again.
See that little blue thing to the right of the "Clamart/Versailles" sign? That's the street name. And that's about what it looks like from a car. You need a zoom lens to really read it:
So if you're driving in France, prepare for a lot of frustration, circling and extra effort to cover that last mile.
There is an extensive motorway system linking the major cities. The highways are new and very well-maintained. The speed limit is 130 kph, or about 80 mph. Most of the roads are toll roads; by American standards the tolls are a bit expensive (4 to 6 euros, or $5.50 to $7.50, for an hour's drive), but worth it for the quality of the road.
Gas is between $5.50 and $6 a gallon, but the gas stations aren't American-style fortresses; you pump your gas and then go in and pay, without (usually) having to insert a credit card or make a deposit first.
The French love traffic circles, which appear at just about every intersection outside the central cities. This isn't just a weird attempt to ape the British; it turns out that they're safer and cause less air pollution than intersections with traffic lights. It seems we will be seeing more of them in the United States for those reasons.
It's when you get into the cities that things become a bit difficult. French cities, of course, were built long before the invention of the automobile. Many city streets are too narrow for two-way traffic and, except for the major Parisian boulevards, they seldom go in a straight line for long.
The French have tried to solve this problem by copiously signing city streets with signs pointing in the direction of major destinations. And by and large, the system works. But see if you can spot the flaw in this system from this picture:
As long as your destination is on one of these signs, you can get there. But what if you're looking for a specific address on a specific street? Do you see the street sign at this intersection, and even if you see it can you read it from your car?
Look again.
See that little blue thing to the right of the "Clamart/Versailles" sign? That's the street name. And that's about what it looks like from a car. You need a zoom lens to really read it:
So if you're driving in France, prepare for a lot of frustration, circling and extra effort to cover that last mile.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Strike 3, and out
It seems that the strike yesterday was bigger than I thought, although this account confirms that it was not quite as bad as expected.
The link above is the only way to read that article in France, alas; the newspaper printers honored the strike and no copies of the paper were printed or delivered in France.
All is back to normal today; in fact, the Metro was noticeably uncrowded. One wonders if some people took the opportunity to grab a four-day weekend, especially since there are no public holidays here between New Year's and Easter.
The link above is the only way to read that article in France, alas; the newspaper printers honored the strike and no copies of the paper were printed or delivered in France.
All is back to normal today; in fact, the Metro was noticeably uncrowded. One wonders if some people took the opportunity to grab a four-day weekend, especially since there are no public holidays here between New Year's and Easter.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Strike 2!
OK, I've now seen an actual demonstration related to the strike. Here they are, in front of the borough hall for my neighborhood:
As you can see, it's a pretty small crowd, and in an hour-long walk across the center of Paris I didn't see anything else of the sort.
By the way, it's unclear whether the red flag means this was a communist demonstration, but the Communist Party is alive and well in France, as I noticed the other night in downtown Arles:
As you can see, it's a pretty small crowd, and in an hour-long walk across the center of Paris I didn't see anything else of the sort.
By the way, it's unclear whether the red flag means this was a communist demonstration, but the Communist Party is alive and well in France, as I noticed the other night in downtown Arles:
Strike!
Today I had the ultimate French experience of living through a general strike. But it seems to have been a bit of a flop.
Predictions were that pretty much all public transportation would be shut down, along with schools and other services. But in Paris at least, things seem to be near normal.
I had an appointment at a government office in the far southern part of the city today related to getting my work visa. I was afraid that the only way to get there would be to walk (about four miles each way), and that having done so, I'd find the place closed.
Instead, the Metro was running normally, as were buses and trams. The office itself seemed to be unaffected as well; they called my appointment on time and seemed to be processing the paperwork efficiently. And I passed a school on my way there that was full of children.
Apparently suburban trains are more heavily affected, but even those seemed to be running a bit better than forecast last night. It helps that a lot of people decided to work from home or take a snow day. Also, the city's public share-a-bike service seems to be in heavy use today:
Other than that, there was little actual evidence of a strike. I saw no picket lines at any of the government buildings I passed, including City Hall. The only indication that something was going on was the TV monitors at the entrances to the Metro, assuring us that service was normal or near-normal despite the "mouvement sociale." (It's interesting that they chose that term rather than "greve," the French word for a strike.) And, I did see one bit of evidence of opposition to the strike:
But then, this is nothing like an American strike, where the union and the company bargain over a new contract, and if the union doesn't like the company's offer, it walks out at the last minute.
Here, it's not a question of a contract expiring. There are no negotiations. Instead, the unions announced last week that they were going to strike today to protest the economic crisis and demand, in somewhat vague terms, that the government do something about it. It basically amounts to a foot-stamping temper tantrum. (The American equivalent would be to call in to a talk radio show, I think.) Tomorrow, they will be back at work.
President Sarkozy has said he intends to marginalize the big unions so that no one notices strikes like this anymore. From my narrow vantage point, it seems like he might be succeeding.
Predictions were that pretty much all public transportation would be shut down, along with schools and other services. But in Paris at least, things seem to be near normal.
I had an appointment at a government office in the far southern part of the city today related to getting my work visa. I was afraid that the only way to get there would be to walk (about four miles each way), and that having done so, I'd find the place closed.
Instead, the Metro was running normally, as were buses and trams. The office itself seemed to be unaffected as well; they called my appointment on time and seemed to be processing the paperwork efficiently. And I passed a school on my way there that was full of children.
Apparently suburban trains are more heavily affected, but even those seemed to be running a bit better than forecast last night. It helps that a lot of people decided to work from home or take a snow day. Also, the city's public share-a-bike service seems to be in heavy use today:
Other than that, there was little actual evidence of a strike. I saw no picket lines at any of the government buildings I passed, including City Hall. The only indication that something was going on was the TV monitors at the entrances to the Metro, assuring us that service was normal or near-normal despite the "mouvement sociale." (It's interesting that they chose that term rather than "greve," the French word for a strike.) And, I did see one bit of evidence of opposition to the strike:
But then, this is nothing like an American strike, where the union and the company bargain over a new contract, and if the union doesn't like the company's offer, it walks out at the last minute.
Here, it's not a question of a contract expiring. There are no negotiations. Instead, the unions announced last week that they were going to strike today to protest the economic crisis and demand, in somewhat vague terms, that the government do something about it. It basically amounts to a foot-stamping temper tantrum. (The American equivalent would be to call in to a talk radio show, I think.) Tomorrow, they will be back at work.
President Sarkozy has said he intends to marginalize the big unions so that no one notices strikes like this anymore. From my narrow vantage point, it seems like he might be succeeding.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Where's the Bread?
I was reminded again of the weirdest little habit that French restaurants have: They don't give you the bread until your first course arrives.
It is just not done. Who knows why?
It is just not done. Who knows why?
Separated by a Common Language
Just as British and American English differ, the French spoken on this side of the Atlantic isn't quite the same language spoken on the other side.
Take the word "depanneur," which in Montreal means a deli or convenience shop. Here, such shops don't really exist -- newspapers are only sold at newsstands and news stores, toiletries at grocery stores, and so forth; there is probably a law forbidding the mixing of different kinds of shop goods -- but the little stores that carry a small range of common food and drink items and often stay open a bit late are called "alimentation generale."
As for "depanneur," it is derived from the word "panne," which means a mechanical breakdown. That escalator in my subway station that hasn't worked for months is labeled with a sign "en panne." A "depanneur," then, is one who removes a "panne," i.e. a repairman.
Here, though, you're more likely to see the word in different forms: the first sign advertises "depannage," or repairs, while the second promises that your cellphone will be repaired within 48 hours wherever you are:
But at least there's some sense, and even subtle humor, to labeling a deli as a "repairman."
Another French Canadian word that has a completely different meaning here is far more puzzling:
As those of you who were there for the Great Poutine Hunt of 2004 remember, "poutine" in Quebec is a dish of cheese curds, french fries and brown gravy.
But in Nice, where I saw this sign, "poutine" is tiny baby sardines, about a half-inch long and pure white. They were mixed subtly into an omelette like this (you can just see the poutine as little white streaks in the omelette, especially in the lower third):
Anyone who can explain to me how baby sardines became cheese curds, or vice versa, wins a dish of the poutine of his choice ...
(UPDATED: It seems that this is a very, very seasonal dish.)
Take the word "depanneur," which in Montreal means a deli or convenience shop. Here, such shops don't really exist -- newspapers are only sold at newsstands and news stores, toiletries at grocery stores, and so forth; there is probably a law forbidding the mixing of different kinds of shop goods -- but the little stores that carry a small range of common food and drink items and often stay open a bit late are called "alimentation generale."
As for "depanneur," it is derived from the word "panne," which means a mechanical breakdown. That escalator in my subway station that hasn't worked for months is labeled with a sign "en panne." A "depanneur," then, is one who removes a "panne," i.e. a repairman.
Here, though, you're more likely to see the word in different forms: the first sign advertises "depannage," or repairs, while the second promises that your cellphone will be repaired within 48 hours wherever you are:
But at least there's some sense, and even subtle humor, to labeling a deli as a "repairman."
Another French Canadian word that has a completely different meaning here is far more puzzling:
As those of you who were there for the Great Poutine Hunt of 2004 remember, "poutine" in Quebec is a dish of cheese curds, french fries and brown gravy.
But in Nice, where I saw this sign, "poutine" is tiny baby sardines, about a half-inch long and pure white. They were mixed subtly into an omelette like this (you can just see the poutine as little white streaks in the omelette, especially in the lower third):
Anyone who can explain to me how baby sardines became cheese curds, or vice versa, wins a dish of the poutine of his choice ...
(UPDATED: It seems that this is a very, very seasonal dish.)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Monaco
We visited this little city-state last weekend. It is basically two hilltops and the valley in between, carved out of the French coastline. Since it is the world's second-smallest country and there are a lot of people who want to be there, it creates a sort of Hong Kong effect:
You can clearly see the border between Monaco and France, at the point where the skyscrapers end, about halfway up the hill. (It's much more obvious in this view than it is when you actually cross it; the border is marked only by a small sign on the roads, and there are no customs or passport checks.)
Monaco itself has an old town up on one hill, where the prince's castle is, overlooking the port:
The old town looks much like old towns in adjacent parts of France, except that most of this part of France could use a broom and a new coat of paint, while Monaco is immaculate, and has many more policemen.
Monte Carlo, on the other hill above the red-roofed older port area, is pretty generic skyscraper country:
This picture, facing east from the old town, and the first one, facing west from Monte Carlo, show you pretty much the whole country. The only independent country in the world that is smaller is Vatican City.
Monte Carlo's principal industry is pretty much what you'd expect it to be:
But it also has the famous casino, which is set amid lush gardens:
Overall, Monaco looks like quite a pleasant place for money to live in, although I think it would be a bit boring for people.
You can clearly see the border between Monaco and France, at the point where the skyscrapers end, about halfway up the hill. (It's much more obvious in this view than it is when you actually cross it; the border is marked only by a small sign on the roads, and there are no customs or passport checks.)
Monaco itself has an old town up on one hill, where the prince's castle is, overlooking the port:
The old town looks much like old towns in adjacent parts of France, except that most of this part of France could use a broom and a new coat of paint, while Monaco is immaculate, and has many more policemen.
Monte Carlo, on the other hill above the red-roofed older port area, is pretty generic skyscraper country:
This picture, facing east from the old town, and the first one, facing west from Monte Carlo, show you pretty much the whole country. The only independent country in the world that is smaller is Vatican City.
Monte Carlo's principal industry is pretty much what you'd expect it to be:
But it also has the famous casino, which is set amid lush gardens:
Overall, Monaco looks like quite a pleasant place for money to live in, although I think it would be a bit boring for people.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Long Eat the King (UPDATED)
Epiphany, or what we call Twelfth Night or Three Kings (Jan. 6), is a significant holiday in France. It's celebrated by baking and eating special buttery cakes called "galettes des rois," or "cakes of the kings." Inside each cake is a little toy or token; whoever gets the token is the king for the day.
Because I came back to Paris on Jan. 7 I thought I had missed them, but there are some still around:
UPDATED 1/25 to add: We got another galette to eat on the way to Avignon and this one had a prize, so Joey was king for a day:
Because I came back to Paris on Jan. 7 I thought I had missed them, but there are some still around:
UPDATED 1/25 to add: We got another galette to eat on the way to Avignon and this one had a prize, so Joey was king for a day:
Obama, enfin
My fantasy of watching Obama's inauguration on TV with a crowd of adoring Frenchmen in the Arles cafe that Van Gogh used to frequent was not, unsurprisingly, fulfilled.
Arles in January turns out to be a pretty desolate town. Van Gogh's cafe was closed for the season, and in fact in the entire old town there was only one open cafe, and it didn't have a TV set. (That article I posted earlier about the dying cafes of France turns out to be very, very accurate as regards the smaller towns, even if Paris is still relatively well supplied with them.)
So I ended up watching in my hotel room ...
... but the hotel only got French channels, not CNN, and the French announcer insisted on simultaneously translating Obama's speech into French, which made it impossible for me to understand either language. So I guess I'll have to watch it on Youtube when I get back.
I did notice, during our trip to the South, that Obamamania has reached levels of bad taste that I didn't know the French were capable of:
And even worse, in the gay dance club in Nice, there was a safe-sex sign in the men's room consisting of a picture of a condom and the words, "Yes we can."
Arles in January turns out to be a pretty desolate town. Van Gogh's cafe was closed for the season, and in fact in the entire old town there was only one open cafe, and it didn't have a TV set. (That article I posted earlier about the dying cafes of France turns out to be very, very accurate as regards the smaller towns, even if Paris is still relatively well supplied with them.)
So I ended up watching in my hotel room ...
... but the hotel only got French channels, not CNN, and the French announcer insisted on simultaneously translating Obama's speech into French, which made it impossible for me to understand either language. So I guess I'll have to watch it on Youtube when I get back.
I did notice, during our trip to the South, that Obamamania has reached levels of bad taste that I didn't know the French were capable of:
And even worse, in the gay dance club in Nice, there was a safe-sex sign in the men's room consisting of a picture of a condom and the words, "Yes we can."
Sunday, January 18, 2009
He's Baaaack! And I'm Away ...
Obamamania is back in a big way in France with the inauguration about to occur. Newsstands are plastered with ads for special Obama issues of various newspapers and magazines:
Some of the manifestations are weird, as in this Left Bank bookstore, which posted a French biography of Obama next to some odd choices:
And then there are the silly ones: my neighborhood pizzeria has put Obama back on the menu ...
There are a number of big events planned for Tuesday at which the public can watch live coverage of the inauguration, including a by-invitation-only one at City Hall featuring the mayor and the U.S. ambassador. (Conveniently, the inauguration takes place at 6 p.m. French time.)
Joey and I will spend Inauguration Day in Arles, in Provence, where chances for a big Obama-fest are much smaller simply because there are fewer people and fewer foreigners there (especially at this time of year). Because of our trip, I won't be blogging again until Sunday, Jan. 25. But stay tuned for a rundown on the inauguration events (if any) and other events of our Provence trip after that.
Some of the manifestations are weird, as in this Left Bank bookstore, which posted a French biography of Obama next to some odd choices:
And then there are the silly ones: my neighborhood pizzeria has put Obama back on the menu ...
There are a number of big events planned for Tuesday at which the public can watch live coverage of the inauguration, including a by-invitation-only one at City Hall featuring the mayor and the U.S. ambassador. (Conveniently, the inauguration takes place at 6 p.m. French time.)
Joey and I will spend Inauguration Day in Arles, in Provence, where chances for a big Obama-fest are much smaller simply because there are fewer people and fewer foreigners there (especially at this time of year). Because of our trip, I won't be blogging again until Sunday, Jan. 25. But stay tuned for a rundown on the inauguration events (if any) and other events of our Provence trip after that.
Comme le Centre de Rockefeller
They've flooded the plaza in front of City Hall and set up an impromptu skating rink, which seems to be quite the hit:
One wonders if this was the idea of Paris's gay mayor, to have figure skating in front of his office ...
One wonders if this was the idea of Paris's gay mayor, to have figure skating in front of his office ...
The Last Fine Time?
Back in October, I wrote about the dance club Mixx. I've been back a few times and have concluded that it may just be the best weekly gay dance club on the planet right now.
Mainly due to lack of competition, of course: the place still has its flaws, including insanely high drink prices (10 euros for drinks that are very small and contain little alcohol) and that the French don't let loose as much in clubs as Americans or Brits do; they're there to dance with their friends, many spend most of the evening facing the DJ, and the number of people with shirts off usually isn't even as big as the number of people wearing ties or other semi-formal wear.
But last night with Tracy Young at the controls, everything went pretty much as described in October, except that the ratio of straight to gay people was much higher, say 30% apparently straight.
And my guests, veterans of the New York scene, agreed: there is nothing like this there anymore. Not even close.
Here are some pictures:
Mainly due to lack of competition, of course: the place still has its flaws, including insanely high drink prices (10 euros for drinks that are very small and contain little alcohol) and that the French don't let loose as much in clubs as Americans or Brits do; they're there to dance with their friends, many spend most of the evening facing the DJ, and the number of people with shirts off usually isn't even as big as the number of people wearing ties or other semi-formal wear.
But last night with Tracy Young at the controls, everything went pretty much as described in October, except that the ratio of straight to gay people was much higher, say 30% apparently straight.
And my guests, veterans of the New York scene, agreed: there is nothing like this there anymore. Not even close.
Here are some pictures:
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Catty Remarks
We visited the Opera Garnier today:
In all my life I have never seen such an over-the-top public space:
That the space is permeated by the smell of cat pee does tend to ruin the effect a bit, though ...
In all my life I have never seen such an over-the-top public space:
That the space is permeated by the smell of cat pee does tend to ruin the effect a bit, though ...
Friday, January 16, 2009
Language Lessons
It's the little things that trip you up when trying to speak a foreign language.
Every language has quirks of its own. For example, Spanish has two different verbs for "to be" ("ser" and "estar"), only one of which is correct at any given time, and with only imperfect logic decreeing which circumstances merit which one.
The biggest quirk of that sort in French is counting. Even though I studied French for five years in high school and college, and know how this works intellectually, it took several weeks to retrain my ears to understand the French numbering system.
It is simple, logical and just like English into the sixties. But then you count, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, sixty-ten, sixty-eleven, sixty-twelve and so on up to sixty-nineteen. Then, instead of eighty, you say the equivalent of "four twenties" or, in older English, "four score." Four score and one, four score two, four score three ... four score nine, four score ten, four score eleven, four score twelve, and so on up to four score nineteen. The next number is 100, and then you go back to a normal system, until you get to 170, when the whole thing repeats itself.
I've got that down, now, finally, but am still working on the next problem, which is that in Parisian French, at least, there are two words for "okay." "D'accord" means OK in the sense of I agree, let's do it, while "ca va" means OK in the sense of so-so, good-but-not-great, etc.
Some French teacher way back when seems to have taught me only the "ca va" part of it, so that's what comes out whenever I want to say "Okay," in either meaning. I'm still understood, but clearly it's not idiomatic, and so I end up feeling foolish.
Every language has quirks of its own. For example, Spanish has two different verbs for "to be" ("ser" and "estar"), only one of which is correct at any given time, and with only imperfect logic decreeing which circumstances merit which one.
The biggest quirk of that sort in French is counting. Even though I studied French for five years in high school and college, and know how this works intellectually, it took several weeks to retrain my ears to understand the French numbering system.
It is simple, logical and just like English into the sixties. But then you count, sixty-eight, sixty-nine, sixty-ten, sixty-eleven, sixty-twelve and so on up to sixty-nineteen. Then, instead of eighty, you say the equivalent of "four twenties" or, in older English, "four score." Four score and one, four score two, four score three ... four score nine, four score ten, four score eleven, four score twelve, and so on up to four score nineteen. The next number is 100, and then you go back to a normal system, until you get to 170, when the whole thing repeats itself.
I've got that down, now, finally, but am still working on the next problem, which is that in Parisian French, at least, there are two words for "okay." "D'accord" means OK in the sense of I agree, let's do it, while "ca va" means OK in the sense of so-so, good-but-not-great, etc.
Some French teacher way back when seems to have taught me only the "ca va" part of it, so that's what comes out whenever I want to say "Okay," in either meaning. I'm still understood, but clearly it's not idiomatic, and so I end up feeling foolish.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Just Say What You Mean
One of the refreshing things about the French is their bluntness, as compared to the euphemisms that increasingly pollute American English.
I was reminded of this over the weekend when I went for a haircut. The coiffeur (itself used as a euphemism in America, the word simply means "haircutter" here, not "hair stylist" or "beauty technician" or the like) asked me if I wanted some "wax" in my hair. Not "styling cream" or "pomade," just "wax." Yet it's the same stuff that gets dressed up in fancier language back home.
The most blatant example of this is one I see every day on my way to work. Next to the emergency brake in the Metro car is a sign in five languages. In French, German, Spanish and Italian, it says, in exactly those words, "All abuse will be punished." ("Tout abus sera puni.")
In English, it reads, "Incorrect use will lead to prosecution."
Eh.
I was reminded of this over the weekend when I went for a haircut. The coiffeur (itself used as a euphemism in America, the word simply means "haircutter" here, not "hair stylist" or "beauty technician" or the like) asked me if I wanted some "wax" in my hair. Not "styling cream" or "pomade," just "wax." Yet it's the same stuff that gets dressed up in fancier language back home.
The most blatant example of this is one I see every day on my way to work. Next to the emergency brake in the Metro car is a sign in five languages. In French, German, Spanish and Italian, it says, in exactly those words, "All abuse will be punished." ("Tout abus sera puni.")
In English, it reads, "Incorrect use will lead to prosecution."
Eh.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Sicko!, a follow-up
Feeling much, much better today, which reminded me that I never blogged about my previous experiences in French pharmacies.
Pharmacies here aren't like drugstores in the U.S., with long aisles of shelves and a little desk in the back. The only things you can get for yourself are a few beauty aids. Everything else is behind the counter, even things like aspirin, which you can get without a prescription but the pharmacist has to hand it to you, so I guess "over the counter" really is over the counter here. (Except when it isn't -- at least one common OTC medicine in the U.S., hydrocortisone cream, is by prescription only here.)
This seems to be mainly an extreme expression of a trend in French retail toward employing service people rather than allowing customers to serve themselves. Many fruit and vegetable markets don't let you pick your own produce, but rather force you to order it from a clerk.
Coupled with the strict employment laws and regulation of prices, it probably makes it much different, and possibly harder, to run a store here than it is back home.
Pharmacies here aren't like drugstores in the U.S., with long aisles of shelves and a little desk in the back. The only things you can get for yourself are a few beauty aids. Everything else is behind the counter, even things like aspirin, which you can get without a prescription but the pharmacist has to hand it to you, so I guess "over the counter" really is over the counter here. (Except when it isn't -- at least one common OTC medicine in the U.S., hydrocortisone cream, is by prescription only here.)
This seems to be mainly an extreme expression of a trend in French retail toward employing service people rather than allowing customers to serve themselves. Many fruit and vegetable markets don't let you pick your own produce, but rather force you to order it from a clerk.
Coupled with the strict employment laws and regulation of prices, it probably makes it much different, and possibly harder, to run a store here than it is back home.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sicko!
I had an unplanned encounter with the French medical system today. I am very impressed.
I went to the emergency room for something that I thought I had had before and knew what it was. A CT scan ruled that out pretty quickly so they ordered more tests, including a sonogram. The sonogram was to look for another specific thing, which they couldn't find, but the sonogram doctor kept trying until she came up with something no one else had thought of, which after the fact seemed obvious as a diagnosis.
It's less serious than either of the first two things they were testing for, and assuming the diagnosis is correct I should be fine in a couple of days.
So what, exactly, is impressive about it? Mainly that the doctors didn't seem as rushed as American doctors, and took a lot more time to thoroughly figure out what the problem was. Here they're on salary, not paid by the patient or the procedure, so they probably feel pressure to see fewer patients.
But that doesn't mean longer waiting times. In fact, I was in and out in seven hours including two major tests and two minor ones. And I was pretty busy during that time -- except for two hours waiting for the CT scan, I was either having a test or talking to a doctor at least once every half-hour. At a New York City emergency room, I could easily have spent seven hours without having those tests, which they would send me away to have scheduled elsewhere, later -- that's what they did when I had the similar problem a few years ago -- since my condition was not life-threatening.
I should add that it's not entirely fair to compare the hospital I went to in France, in an upscale suburb of Paris near where I work, with the hospital I went to previously in the heart of Manhattan. This place is probably more like the hospital in Greenwich, Connecticut. But still.
And there was one final delightful surprise in store at the pharmacy: They don't make you wait half an hour while they count the pills out from the big bottles into the little ones. Here, all the medicines (or at least the ones I needed: an antibiotic, an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller) come prepackaged in little boxes containing standard-size doses. One box of this, one box of that and you're out 2 minutes after you walked in.
I went to the emergency room for something that I thought I had had before and knew what it was. A CT scan ruled that out pretty quickly so they ordered more tests, including a sonogram. The sonogram was to look for another specific thing, which they couldn't find, but the sonogram doctor kept trying until she came up with something no one else had thought of, which after the fact seemed obvious as a diagnosis.
It's less serious than either of the first two things they were testing for, and assuming the diagnosis is correct I should be fine in a couple of days.
So what, exactly, is impressive about it? Mainly that the doctors didn't seem as rushed as American doctors, and took a lot more time to thoroughly figure out what the problem was. Here they're on salary, not paid by the patient or the procedure, so they probably feel pressure to see fewer patients.
But that doesn't mean longer waiting times. In fact, I was in and out in seven hours including two major tests and two minor ones. And I was pretty busy during that time -- except for two hours waiting for the CT scan, I was either having a test or talking to a doctor at least once every half-hour. At a New York City emergency room, I could easily have spent seven hours without having those tests, which they would send me away to have scheduled elsewhere, later -- that's what they did when I had the similar problem a few years ago -- since my condition was not life-threatening.
I should add that it's not entirely fair to compare the hospital I went to in France, in an upscale suburb of Paris near where I work, with the hospital I went to previously in the heart of Manhattan. This place is probably more like the hospital in Greenwich, Connecticut. But still.
And there was one final delightful surprise in store at the pharmacy: They don't make you wait half an hour while they count the pills out from the big bottles into the little ones. Here, all the medicines (or at least the ones I needed: an antibiotic, an anti-inflammatory and a painkiller) come prepackaged in little boxes containing standard-size doses. One box of this, one box of that and you're out 2 minutes after you walked in.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Not Qwerty
The hair salon I go to here is quite up to date -- in addition to magazines, they offer Internet terminals to use while you wait.
I hadn't used one until this weekend, and was surprised to discover that it comes with a French keyboard, which is quite different than the American one:
Perhaps the weirdest and most annoying thing about this keyboard is visible at the lower right: the period is only available with a shift key.
That's probably because Europeans interchange periods and commas in much of daily life -- for example, fractions are indicated with commas, so three and a half euros would be written "3,50".
Unfortunately for the French, the period cannot be interchanged with a comma in World Wide Web addresses ...
I hadn't used one until this weekend, and was surprised to discover that it comes with a French keyboard, which is quite different than the American one:
Perhaps the weirdest and most annoying thing about this keyboard is visible at the lower right: the period is only available with a shift key.
That's probably because Europeans interchange periods and commas in much of daily life -- for example, fractions are indicated with commas, so three and a half euros would be written "3,50".
Unfortunately for the French, the period cannot be interchanged with a comma in World Wide Web addresses ...
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Sale!
So, the sales are indeed on:
And because French stores are legally allowed to have sales only twice a year, it takes on a bit of a carnival atmosphere, something like the Barneys sale in New York used to be.
The bargains are indeed bargains -- most things in most stores are discounted between 30% and 50%, which brings them into the general range, and sometimes even the low end of the range, for similar items in New York.
One store selling cashmere even had a line outside, the bargains must have been so good:
Having just filled up on cashmere in New York, I didn't go in to see what the fuss was about. But they certainly need it; everybody is complaining about the cold weather, with temperatures in the 20s, which they're not really used to.
And because French stores are legally allowed to have sales only twice a year, it takes on a bit of a carnival atmosphere, something like the Barneys sale in New York used to be.
The bargains are indeed bargains -- most things in most stores are discounted between 30% and 50%, which brings them into the general range, and sometimes even the low end of the range, for similar items in New York.
One store selling cashmere even had a line outside, the bargains must have been so good:
Having just filled up on cashmere in New York, I didn't go in to see what the fuss was about. But they certainly need it; everybody is complaining about the cold weather, with temperatures in the 20s, which they're not really used to.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Fresh Air Lovers
It has been really cold in Paris this week -- below freezing most of the time, which is quite unusual -- but that hasn't stopped Parisians from enjoying their outdoor cafes:
A lot of it seems to be about the smoking, which has been illegal indoors for about a year. But some people just seem to like the fresh air ...
A lot of it seems to be about the smoking, which has been illegal indoors for about a year. But some people just seem to like the fresh air ...
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
A Chilly Welcome Back
So I got back to Paris this morning to find that Russia had cut off all gas supplies to Europe in a dispute with the Ukraine.
It's hard to tell exactly how big a deal this is here. It certainly doesn't seem to affect me directly; the heaters and oven in my apartment are electric, and France gets most of its electricity from nuclear power. It is probably a bigger deal in central and eastern Europe.
The weather also isn't as bad here as the story makes out; while they apparently had a big snowstorm here a day or two ago, as I write this it is 30 degrees and there is no snow on the ground in central Paris. (Even that is still worse than they are used to.) I did see a picture, which as far as I can tell is not online yet, of snowplows clearing drifts in front of the Duomo in Milan, and TV images of snow falling in Nice, on the Mediterranean, but that seems to have been a freak and localized storm.
The economy is definitely chilly; as I mentioned in my last post, we are now in one of the few periods of the year when it is legal for French stores to have sales, and they are certainly taking advantage:
Whether these 50% discounts apply to everything in the store, as I saw in New York last month, or only to "selected" merchandise, isn't yet clear -- the limited hours of French stores mean that I won't actually get to check it out until Saturday, probably. More to come.
It's hard to tell exactly how big a deal this is here. It certainly doesn't seem to affect me directly; the heaters and oven in my apartment are electric, and France gets most of its electricity from nuclear power. It is probably a bigger deal in central and eastern Europe.
The weather also isn't as bad here as the story makes out; while they apparently had a big snowstorm here a day or two ago, as I write this it is 30 degrees and there is no snow on the ground in central Paris. (Even that is still worse than they are used to.) I did see a picture, which as far as I can tell is not online yet, of snowplows clearing drifts in front of the Duomo in Milan, and TV images of snow falling in Nice, on the Mediterranean, but that seems to have been a freak and localized storm.
The economy is definitely chilly; as I mentioned in my last post, we are now in one of the few periods of the year when it is legal for French stores to have sales, and they are certainly taking advantage:
Whether these 50% discounts apply to everything in the store, as I saw in New York last month, or only to "selected" merchandise, isn't yet clear -- the limited hours of French stores mean that I won't actually get to check it out until Saturday, probably. More to come.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Time-Lapse Photography
As I prepare to head back to Paris today, a few more observations about New York.
Returning to your home after months away is like seeing your life in time-lapse photography. Not just the obvious things that I noted in my last post, but more subtle changes in people and places.
My 12-year-old nephew's voice has noticeably changed in the last four months, for example. One friend's substance abuse problem seems to have gotten worse. Many more nightclubs have closed and the mood at those that remain is distinctly subdued. At the stores, I have never seen such sales in my life (50% off everything at Bloomingdale's Soho!).
(There were no such sales when I left Paris, but that's because French law prohibits sales except at certain times of year. They should be going when I get back; stay tuned for details.)
I also noticed, as the days went on here, how subtly different my consumption of alcohol and caffeine has become while living in France.
The French drink lots of coffee and wine, but at any one sitting they drink less than Americans do. Coffee comes in single espresso-size shots, for the most part. A 12-ounce cup of coffee at my office cafeteria in New York -- the smallest size they offer -- is huge in comparison, and wired me way too much for the day. Yet I used to drink even more than that in the morning, sometimes.
French restaurants serve wine by the bottle, of course, and bottles are the same size everywhere. But most also serve it in carafes, which come in standard sizes of one-third and two-thirds of a standard wine bottle. It turns out that one-third of a bottle is the perfect amount of wine with a meal. Half a bottle, as one would have if sharing it with one's partner, sends one over the edge from contented to sleepy.
What this means as far as changes in my life when I get back for good next month, I don't know yet. But I'll be glad to get back to the right amounts of these things starting tomorrow.
Returning to your home after months away is like seeing your life in time-lapse photography. Not just the obvious things that I noted in my last post, but more subtle changes in people and places.
My 12-year-old nephew's voice has noticeably changed in the last four months, for example. One friend's substance abuse problem seems to have gotten worse. Many more nightclubs have closed and the mood at those that remain is distinctly subdued. At the stores, I have never seen such sales in my life (50% off everything at Bloomingdale's Soho!).
(There were no such sales when I left Paris, but that's because French law prohibits sales except at certain times of year. They should be going when I get back; stay tuned for details.)
I also noticed, as the days went on here, how subtly different my consumption of alcohol and caffeine has become while living in France.
The French drink lots of coffee and wine, but at any one sitting they drink less than Americans do. Coffee comes in single espresso-size shots, for the most part. A 12-ounce cup of coffee at my office cafeteria in New York -- the smallest size they offer -- is huge in comparison, and wired me way too much for the day. Yet I used to drink even more than that in the morning, sometimes.
French restaurants serve wine by the bottle, of course, and bottles are the same size everywhere. But most also serve it in carafes, which come in standard sizes of one-third and two-thirds of a standard wine bottle. It turns out that one-third of a bottle is the perfect amount of wine with a meal. Half a bottle, as one would have if sharing it with one's partner, sends one over the edge from contented to sleepy.
What this means as far as changes in my life when I get back for good next month, I don't know yet. But I'll be glad to get back to the right amounts of these things starting tomorrow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)