American Life In The Summertime #19 - France

Bonjour from Luxembourg, an absurdly small country only 80km long by 55km wide, sandwiched between Belgium, France & Germany. Despite its small size Luxembourg still only ranks as the 7th smallest country in Europe, but because of its strategic position it crams more than its fair share of history between its borders - the Battle of the Bulge, for instance, took place in the skies over Luxembourg. Luxembourgers would be somewhat miffed at the thought of people visiting their country simply for novelty value (their national motto translates rather defiantly to "We want to remain what we are" - much easier nowadays that their neighbours have become more civilised anyway and no longer routinely stop over to occupy their country on the way through, no matter what the Luxembourgers want), however for an Australian used to flying 4 hours and still being in the same country, this novelty value was exactly why I was here. The platforms at the Luxembourg train station were also identified, in order, as Platform 3, Platform 1, and then Platform 2, and any country with such an inventive counting method gets my vote for a visit, novelty or otherwise.

I came to Luxembourg from Cologne, in western Germany. The Germans are rightly regarded as some of the premier beer drinkers in the world, however this is not without its quirks. Chief among these is the preference for ordering an interesting mixture of beer and coke, in a type of weird shandy. The local Cologne beer, Kolch, is also served in 200ml glasses - about 2/3 the size of an Australian middie - which is absolutely tiny. Granted, they add up, but with only half of it beer in the first place you do wonder why they bother. Offsetting this however was an invention of which I became very fond - the beers get cheaper the more of them you put on your tab. In Australia, this would have the RSA wowsers rubbing their foreheads with concern for the moral decline of society, but in Germany, the more you drink, the cheaper they get. Iz niice.

The biggest challenge so far has been the annoying frequency with which European hostels are fully booked, even in "low" season away from summer. In Luxembourg, for instance, the hostel was fully booked and turning people away both nights I was there, and I only got in due to cancellations both days. But they're not booked with backpackers or other travellers also there for the novelty. They are full of school groups, European families travelling cheap, the badminton team, your aunty's cooking class, the Leicester Townswomens' Guild's travelling production of Muriel Goes Shopping For Cheese, teenage chess club masterminds on a goodwill tour, Hooray For Everything and a bunch of other people who, basically, will not be found at the bar with you at the end of the day. For a single traveller, this can impact on the social aspect of staying in a hostel, however thus far it has not been necessary for me to wait until the teacher is looking the other way and invite 25 French schoolkids down to the bar for a game of Asshole. Which could create its own problems anyway, I suspect, even in liberal Amsterdam, although presumably it would earn me a position of prominence at the Homo Monument.

After Luxembourg it was onto France, first stop Paris. The French, and particularly the Parisians, have the reputation for being rude, arrogant, overly nationalistic, and totally unhelpful to foreigners. The very Gallic shrug, which greets even the most minor request for aid for which the shrugger is totally unwilling to help, is so common even the mannequins in Paris do it.

I must say however that my first experience on French soil did a lot to dispel this reputation. I hopped off the train in Paris central & approached the automatic ticket machine to get to my hostel. Being in French & not that intuitive, I stood there scratching my head at the machine for a while (just to continue my stellar run with technology) before the guy behind me came up and - immediately in English - asked me where I wanted to go, & then did whatever needed to be done to make the machine work. I was even 10c short in coins for the fare & he just gave me the money before walking off. Not a bad start. I then walked down to the platform & was greeted with the quintessential accordion style busker music - all that was missing was the guy with the horizontal striped shirt & the beret, smoking a cigarette & with a bag of onions on his belt & a baguette in his back pocket. And a monkey. The monkey was crucial to the mental picture I had formed at this point, which I must tell you was putting me in a pretty positive frame of mind vis-a-vis Paris.

The French, though, are fiercely protective of, well, being French. There is an organisation in Paris - called the Academie francaise - devoted entirely to preserving the French language in France & coming up with French alternatives for French people to use instead of evil English words that have invaded their culture, such as "weekend" and "computer". The best example of this is the Academie recently spending 4 months - 4 months - arguing whether "iPod" should be masculine or feminine - ie "le iPod" or "la iPod". When you see large areas of Paris falling into disrepair due to lack of public funds, it's hard to have any sympathy with the Academie taking a huge chunk of tax dollars, but at least you can tune into le iPod and block it all out, now that the Academie have told you what you can call it.

I'll leave you now with my absolute favourite story of offending delicate French sensibilities. Under the Arc de Triomph there is a memorial to the Unknown Soldier with an eternal flame - we have something similar at our national military museum in Canberra. The Arc also operates as Paris' largest roundabout, with 12 huge boulevards all converging around the monument, & the largest & most well known of these, the Champs elyssee, runs from the big tourist hotspot of the Lourve all the way to the Arc, and is full of cafes, restaurants & nightclubs. A few years ago, a few Australian guys were out for a big night at the clubs along the Champs elysee on a chilly French winter evening, and, early in the morning, were overcome with hunger pangs. They attended the local convenience store & acquired themselves a large pack of hotdogs and buns. They were to be found some minutes later huddled around the eternal flame of the Unknown Soldier, sticks extended and toasting their hot dogs in an impromptu Aussie barbeque. They were summarily escorted to the airport and large stamps put in their passport inviting them never to return to France, however if you were leaving anyway, it's not really possible to describe how worth it this would be. Well done, boys. 'Til next time, take care of yourselves.....and each other.