Letter From Paris
Paris Kiosque - April 2003 - Volume 10, Number 4
Copyright (c) 2003 Harriet Welty-Rochefort - Used with permission.
A 30 carpet garden, gospel in Paris, a sea water treatment in Basque country
and the weight of history in France.
What is it about April? Even in distressing times of war and international
tension, nature holds its own. Our concerns about Iraq and the
Franco-American rift over it evaporate when we step outside into our thirty
9 x 12 carpet yard in Paris. I'd like to say that I came up with that
formula myself but must confess that I got it from an Englishman describing
his daughter's small garden in Paris. "It's the size of two 9 x 12
carpets", he told me. When he asked how big our Paris piece of real estate
was, my husband rapidly calculated that it would hold thirty rugs. Since
then, from time to time I amuse myself by looking out and imagining in the
place of grass thirty beautiful Oriental carpets laid out in splendor from
hedge to hedge.
There are many ways to cope with the ambient war-inspired tension: a gospel
performance at Saint Germain de Charonne, one of the oldest churches in
Paris only a block away from where we live, turned out to be one of them.
Saint Germain de Charonne was a church when Charonne was a little village in
the tenth century. Time passed and some disastrous urban planning occurred
along the way, but the church is still there in all its simplicity. A jewel
lost amid blocks of public housing, it is a tribute to the superior building
skills and architectural designs of those who came before.
The church is one of only two in Paris to have its own cemetery. In it
you'll find some unlikely bedfellows: the tombs of French writer and former
Culture Minister André Malraux's two sons as well as Robert Brasillach, a
French writer shot for his collaboration with the enemy in World War II.
Saint Germain de Charonne is on a human scale, the opposite of the imposing
Notre Dame. And the longer I waited for the tardy performers to appear, the
more its down-to-earth Romanesque architecture and history spoke to me.
On one of the pillars nearest where I was sitting, I spied marks of what
must have been the original painting in tones of pastel reds and blues and
yellows. How gay the interior must have been! I noted as well that the
Christ on the cross was black and that the Virgin Mary and Child were
fashioned in a warm leather colored wood. By the time the performers waltzed
in clapping their hands to "When The Saints Come Marching In", I was feeling
right at home in this homey church.
Well, gospel's gospel wherever you are in the world. Only the audience is
different: It's a challenge to get a reserved French audience out of their
seats to clap and sway to the music but to their credit, the singers
actually did get them loosened up. Chapeau (or hat's off") to them!
The next anti-stress step was a few days at a "thalassotherapy" center in
Saint Jean de Luz, a pretty little town on the Basque coast 20 kilometers
from Biarritz. "Thalassotherapy" doesn't exist in the States as far as I
know so here's an explanation: Sea water is pumped into a seaside sea
therapy institute where it is filtered to supply a giant indoor pool as well
as the hoses that fill big bathtubs located in separate cabins. Other than
a variety of water treatment (how about a massage while water gently drips
upon your back?) you can have mud bath treatments (you get mud rubbed on
your back and legs and then are covered up in a rubber blanket, a sheet of
plastic and a wool blanket and left to contemplate life for 20 minutes). If
that doesn't take your mind off what's going on in the world, nothing will.
An application of sea algae on the legs (good for circulation) isn't bad
either. OK, I admit I yelped when the kind uniformed lady applied the cold
seaweed and went into a claustrophic state when I found myself alone in the
little cabin wrapped up in a blanket from which I could not move since my
arms were immobile. Other than that, though, the treatments were heaven.
I guess any three days out of your life when you are engaged in the sole
contemplation of your own little belly button would be a success but
thalassotherapy is particularly so because you are right next to the ocean
and can walk on the beach and eat delicious seafood as part of the package!
With its whitewashed houses colorfully decorated with bright blue and red
shutters, Saint Jean de Luz was just the place to be. The sun was even
shining which isn't an ordinary occurrence in this wet part of the world.
The only dark spot in the picture was that Saint Jean's coast, like many
others in this region, had been soiled and spoiled by the Prestige oil spill
last Fall.
"Are we crazy to go there? Will we pick up some horrid disease?" I asked my
husband. "No," he reassured me, "they filter the water so there's no danger
and besides since everyone's scared, there won't be anyone there and we'll
have the whole place to ourselves."
I wasn't so sure about his reasoning but I would have gone anywhere to
escape newspapers and TV and anywhere to get fresh ocean air. At least oil
spills leave the air clean and anyway almost any air would be cleaner and
less polluted than Paris air, which according to a recent study is not
something you want to have to breathe every day of your life (but we
Parisians are condemned to doing just that).
So it was with great delight that we stepped on the TGV fast train at 10:10
and traversed France from north to south in five hours. The trip takes only
one hour on the plane but I love the fast train and take it anytime I can.
We got lucky. The children in our car were models of good behavior (this is
not always the case). The little brown-haired five-year-old in the seat
across the aisle slept peacefully for a long while in her young father's
arms. He fell asleep too. How I wished I had a picture of the two of them
abandoning themselves to the arms of Morpheus. In the bar car we admired a
delightful six-month-old baby boy who was discovering himself in the mirror
and who charmed everyone who passed his way. This included the employee
behind the bar who at one point, to help his young mother, swept the baby up
in his arms while he cheerfully continued to take orders, make coffee and
heat sandwiches.
While in Basque country, we decided there were a few things we absolutely
had to do: buy wonderful jambon Serrano (salty tasty cured ham) and Basque
sheep cheese (fromage de brébis) to bring back to Paris (we did and it is
definitely not going to last long). We decided to sign up for a tour to
Bilbao over the border in Spain where the Guggenheim Museum is located. We
were glad not to drive and it didn't hurt that our driver looked like a
Basque George Clooney. As we sped along in his minivan, he entertained us
with some facts and figures about the Basques and Basque country, whose
cultire and language have remained a distinct and integral part of their
identity, despite attempts by the national government to water it down.
There are, he told us, about 3 million Basques on the Spanish side of the
border and only 300,000 in France. Yet the French Basques keep up the
tradition: our driver, for example, has two daughters, 14 and 6, both of
whom attend bilingual Basque-French schools.
He also told us what the results of arbitrary administrative cut-ups are.
For obscure administrative reasons or perhaps because of their geographical
proximity, the Basques and the Béarnais were thrown together in one
"départment", the result being that they need different chambers of commerce
for each of them since they don't get along! Our driver told us that while
the Basque looks suspicious of other people at first, once he opens up,
you're his friend for life. Whereas the Béarnais who seems at first
approach to be a friendly type gets more closed with time! Of course,
considering the source, one must take that with a grain of salt!
In a period of time where Americans are French-bashing, I reflected that it
would be interesting for them to see how divided and varied the French are
even among themselves. Which French are the Americans bashing? The
Basques, the Bearnais, the Normans, the Alsatians, the Auvergnats? From far
away, they are just French. But close up, the differences become quite
apparent. And, you'll tell me, it's the same for Americans: we're not all
alike and we don't all approve of Bush!
My last column having been on the Franco-American rift caused by President
Chirac's vigorous "non" to war in Iraq, I won't go into it again other than
to say that I hope the epitome of French-bashing has been reached with the
decision by some Louisiana legislators to "uninvite" the French President to
the ceremonies for the 200th anniversary of the Louisiana Purchase and a
call by some Southern senators to rescind the contract of the French company
Sedhexo which feeds the entire Marine corps (the senators were surprised
when told by company officials that if they did so, they would be doing away
with some 4000 AMERICAN jobs).
Suffice it to say that I regret the current Franco-American divide and hope
our leaders will patch up their differences. It's starting. Although
President Bush and President Chirac haven't spoken on the phone for eight
weeks according to some reports, American Ambassador to France Howard Leach
in a recent interview downplayed the current imbroglio saying that "we've
been friends for 200 years and will continue being friends for 200 years".
Which brings us to a consideration of history and the overwhelming
importance of its role in the way the French act.
In the United States, history is, well, history, as in "it happened a long
time ago, what difference does it make?" (We do however remember saving the
French in World War II which is why so many are upset about France's
purported lack of gratefulness).
In France, history is an everyday affair that guides and weighs upon and
influences contemporary life.
We had our 9/11, a horrific event that took 3000 innocent lives, shook our
nation and prompted the current administration to find a culprit. It was
the first time, not counting Pearl Harbor, that we had been attacked on our
soil.
The French (whom many French bashing Americans describe as cowards because
"they didn't fight" in World War II) have lived with war and terror on a
permanent basis. In World War I, they lost not thousands, but 1.3 million,
men on their soil. It's as if Texas had gone to war - in Texas - and had
lost one-sixth of its men. Then, twenty years later, it started again! Same
soil, another war! Did they ask for it? No. Were they ready for it? No.
Was there a resistance? Yes. And were they and are they grateful for Allied
help? Yes! Does that make them eternally grateful in the sense of putting
their brains in a refrigerator for all time? No!
Have the French constantly reminded the Americans that had it not been for
their help in the Revolutionary War we wouldn't be Americans today?!
Did the French ever have the bad taste to complain about Allied bombs
destroying their cities (Caen, St. Nazaire, Le Havre were all reduced to
rubble not by German but Allied fire). No Frenchman ever mentions this
because that damage pales in comparison to Allied help.
World War I and World War II took place on French soil. But the French were
in Viet Nam before the Americans (and lost, before we did) and in Algeria to
fight a colonial war, also lost.
All this is to say that the French have a certain experience of war and war
on their territory. In addition to WWI and WWII and Viet Nam and Algeria,
there have always been terrorist wars to combat. Whether it's the Corsicans
or Islamic fundamentalists, the French have had their share of terrorist
attacks and have lived with these threats for many decades. Having done so,
they've learned that the way to deal with terrorist bombs is through
intelligence, not more bombs.
Don't get me wrong: the French aren't angels and it's irritating to hear
them give us lessons. Anyone but the French!! But through their
experience, they have learned and are learning different ways to cope with
terror and terrorists.
For example, the second religion of France is Islam. (France has the highest
Arab and Muslim population in Europe, at about 7 percent.) The French are
dealing everyday with problems posed by the practices of Muslims who are in
French schools. Let Muslims wear the veil to school? Allow the girls not to
attend gym?
One of the most creative solutions to the many issues raised by a Muslim
society in a French society (the presence of dangerous Islamic
fundamentalists, for example) was recently fostered by Interior Minister
Nicolas Sarkozy who spearheaded a move for Muslims to form their own
national council made up of elected representatives. France's Catholic,
Jewish and Protestant religions have long had such official assemblies; it
is the first time Muslims have been invited to form theirs.
And what was the Muslim response? Pride to be included, rather than
excluded, from mainstream French life.
By founding an official Islam for France in which Muslims themselves will
debate issues such as education and dress, the government is making a strong
move to integrate, not reject, this very different culture.
In the case of Iraq, the French were trying, as they are trying with the
Muslims, to apply a peaceful solution to a complicated problem.
Were they wrong?
My mind's open.
You tell me.
Harriet Welty Rochefort is the author of
French Toast: An American in Paris
Celebrates the Maddening Mysteries of the French and
French Fried: The Culinary Capers of an American in
Paris.
French Toast was hailed by the Los Angeles Times as "wise and devastatingly
funny". For world-famous chef Alain Ducasse, her second book French Fried
"in a lively and hilarious style ... gives an inside look at the world of
French cuisine and wine." Both books are published by St. Martin's Press.
Harriet is currently working on her third book about the French.
For more of Harriet's prose on Paris, and ruminations of France and the French,
she and her husband Philip have a
website.
If you've had some funny, startling, satisfying, or dismaying
food experiences in France you'd like to share,
you may contact Harriet directly at
harriet.welty@hwelty.com.
Editor's Note:
Dear Readers, while our writers are always
delighted to hear and to receive comments, both about their columns in the The Paris Kiosque,
as well as your experiences in Paris,
they are unable to answer any requests
for travel information.
Thank you for your understanding.
