Ah, the French. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, you’ve no doubt formed your opinion based on the numerous stereotypes that are bandied about. Indeed, the ‘cheese-eaters’ are arguably the most typecast nationality in the world—a hardship that they really should have foreseen prior to inventing the word ‘cliché’, but I digress. After spending almost six months in France, I thought it time to dispel a few of these myths as false (faux), and confirm others as true (vrai)...
- “The French are rude.” FAUX
This criticism will live on as long as visitors continue to judge an entire nation based on the attitude of one demographic... the Parisian waiter. I admit that some sour-faced and impatient members of this group leave little to be desired in the customer service stakes, but please don’t assume all 60-plus million French residents have the same pomme frite on their shoulder. You’ll generally only find this level of service in tourist area restaurants and, whilst I don’t condone the attitude, I can certainly understand the frustration. You try spending your days and nights serving people who come to your country and demand food in a foreign language and see how patient you become. But if it makes you feel better, these waiters (and sometimes waitresses) serve their own countrymen with that very same level of gusto, so just shut up and eat your food, because it is the best in the world even if it is served with a snarl (and a snail, depending on your order).
Overall, as a people, the French are among the politest I’ve come across. In every shop, I’m be greeted with ‘Bonjour Madame’ (Mademoiselle on a good day) and farewelled with an ‘Au revoir’ or ‘Bonne journée’. The courtesy continues on public transport where I am guaranteed a ‘pardon’ if someone even slightly brushes past me. However, on a packed train at peak hour, this cacophony of apologies can sometimes be a little much.
After spending a staggered half a year in Paris, I have made friends with locals at many a restaurant, bar, café, and even a department store (a tad too much shopping perhaps?). Like in all countries, there are some amazing people in France who love meeting people from all over the world and trading stories in Franglais. So, please, don’t allow history to repeat itself and let the French front line bring down the entire nation.
- “They just pretend that they can’t speak English.” FAUX
Trust me on this one. It is a lot easier for a French salesperson to admit that they speak your native tongue than to participate in an awkward game of charades simply to determine whether you’d like sparkling or still water with your Bœuf Bourguignon. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve heard an Anglophone lose their patience because their French server couldn’t understand their order (no matter how loudly they repeated it). And, yes, I’m sorry, but I am singling you out on this one, Americans. You’re in France, so if you don’t speak French, either learn the basics, point, or head across the Channel where you’re (partly) understood.
Sure, English is taught at schools in France. Just like foreign languages are taught in Australian schools. So, if a French person moved to Great Britain or the United States to study or work after high school, then they’re able to speak English. If not, consider them to be like me, an Australian who studied Indonesian for two years and can now only remember that ‘lima’ means ‘five’.
Why do we expect the French to speak our language anyway? French is the official language of 29 countries and all United Nations agencies. In fact, 26 percent of European Union residents speak French—that’s 129 million people. What’s more, demographic projections predict that 67 per cent of the world’s population will speak French by year the 2050. I plan to be one of them (but God help me if it takes 40 years).
I love that the French are so fiercely protective of their language. The country even boasts a government Minister charged with the responsibility of protecting French, principally from the ‘invasion of English’ (the language, not the people but give them time). In 1993, this Minister of Culture, Jacques (surprise, surprise) Toubon, introduced laws mandating the use of the French language in all publications, advertisements, workplaces and on restaurant menus and product packaging. English may appear, but only as a means of translating (to tourists) the French words used, not to present any additional information.
'Jaws' is 'The Teeth of the Sea' to the French 
McDonalds' bilingual packaging.
And it will come as no surprise to you that the French adhere to these ‘Toubon Laws’ more stringently than they do their wedding vows. Disobey these laws and, while you won’t get the guillotine (let’s not lose our heads here), the punishment is severe. Schools refusing to adopt French as the medium of instruction are ineligible for government funding, and, in 2006, a French subsidiary of a US medical supplies company was fined 500,000€, plus an ongoing 20,000€ per day, for non-compliance. Ah, now if only these laws could be applied to the ignorant morons who yell their dinner orders in English, France would be an even better place.
Alas, despite their best efforts, the French are losing yet another battle. Certain English words have crept into the language in recent times. So, Australians all let us rejoice, because if you’re planning a visit to France you can now comfortably rely on at least five English words to communicate with the locals: ‘week-end’ (yes, they’ve added a hyphen), ‘cool’, ‘email’, ‘marketing’ and ‘chewing gum’. Profound contributions indeed. Be proud, Anglophones!
- “Paris is expensive.” FAUX
Context dependent of course. I mean, sure, Paris is more expensive than Thailand, Bali and (taking an ignorantly wild stab in the dark here) Somalia, but when it comes to value for money, the French capital knocks Australia out of the water that it’s girt by.
I present to you Exhibit A, a 34€ bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne. This converts to $47 at today’s exchange rate—almost half the price we’re charged in Australia. I’m ignoring your cries of ‘Hey, no fair, it’s a French product’ and moving on to bottled water. Now I know water is more of a rarity in Australia, but the down under price of $2 for a 600ml bottle is becoming ridiculously close to the price of petrol. In Paris, I pay €0.50 (AU$0.70) for a one litre bottle. Of course, I didn’t buy said bottle of water within 200 metres of a famous monument (and I concede, there are many), because then I would have paid 2€ to enjoy the refreshing taste of an illegal immigrant’s tap water packaged, ever-so-thoughtfully, in a re-used Evian bottle.
The moral of this story? If you think the prices are excessive, you’re in a tourist area (the grilled cheese baguette hotdogs on display in the front glass casing are a dead giveaway), so keep walking to the backstreets and save yourself 30 per cent.
- “Ooh la la?” VRAI
Yes, they say it, but not in the saucy way that we all imagine. Instead, the expression is used by the French to communicate how impressed they are in much the same way that we use ‘wow’ and ‘awesome’, or ‘golly gosh’ if we were in an Enid Blyton novel.
- “The streets of Paris are littered with dog merde.” FAUX
I am sure it was no coincidence that I first stepped on Parisian soil on the turd of October 2001. Nor, at the time, did I consider it coincidental that every intersection housed an enormous and majestic
fountain. I quickly determined that these were clearly grand shoe baths merely disguised as ancient monuments. So I am the first to admit that this was no myth 10 years ago. Back then, the streets of Paris were so chequered with dog doo that you daren’t look around at the beauty of the city, because you were too busy, eyes-down, strategising your next step. And believe it or not, doo-related slips in Paris were responsible for the hospitalisation of at least two people every day.
However, I am pleased to report that there have been some changes about the place. In 2002, the Mayor enforced fines of up to 450€ for dog walkers not picking up after their pooch. And my, what a difference it’s made. I’m not saying that every dog doesn’t still have its day once in a while in Paris, but it’s a vast improvement on the toilet I visited 10 years ago. I only wish I could say the same for
Toulouse, a French city so-named (I think) because the bowels of the local dogs are also just that: too loose.
But dog-gone, if there isn’t another problem that needs to be flushed out of Paris... and that, my friends, is the abundance of men (of any age) urinating on the streets wherever and whenever they please. Ah yes, if you’ve visited Paris, you know that waft of wee that I’m talking about. You would be forgiven for blaming this smell on the dogs also, but unfortunately, this is not the case. Nor should you point your finger (or any other appendage) at the drunk or homeless. More often than not, the stream of ‘water’ that you’re (hopefully) stepping over in the street is the product of a middle-aged businessman, still clearly lamenting the 1980s removal of all-but-one of Paris’ vespasiennes, or open-air urinals. The last of these (pictured below) is incongruously located on the corner of Rue le Santé, translated into English as Health Street. Taking the piss? I think so.
- “The men: masters of seduction.” VRAI
I'm sure they would prefer to be described as ‘romantic’, but as I’m leaning closer to ‘sleazy’, I've drawn a compromise at ‘seductive’. Yes, seduction remains alive and well in France, but is an art form that makes me a lot more uncomfortable than Van Gogh's bandaged ear portrait.
I’ll start with the staring... French men like to stare. Not in that puzzled ‘Do I know you?’ kind of way. No, it’s more along the lines of, ‘I am imagining tearing your clothes off right now and then I’m going to-’, well you get the picture. This look is impenetrable and exudes from men (and women, but that’s another story) of all ages. From 20-something Algerians on the train to 75-year-olds sucking down their 52nd cigarette for the day on café terraces. Shudder. Married or unmarried, it doesn’t matter. Whether you’re alongside your boyfriend or not, it doesn’t matter. In fact, a French friend told me that it pleases him to see men looking at his girlfriend this way, because he regards it as quite complimentary. I explained to my friend that an Australian guy would return such a ‘compliment’ with a swift punch in the face for the blatant disrespect shown to him and, more importantly, his girlfriend. My friend just couldn’t understand this. Because like most native French men, he was taught from a very young age to admire and adore women and make it obvious to them that you’re doing both.
The ever-so-smooth
French President, Nicolas Sarkozy,
makes a young lady's acquaintance.
As I understand it in France, a woman is to be adorned with Chanel and Christian Dior, principally, it seems, to attract the admiration of men. Hmmm... makes for quite an insecure (not to mention expensive) existence, and one in stringent opposition to the ‘make yourself happy’ mentality that I’ll be impressing upon my daughter.
In some ways, though, women do have it made in France. They NEVER ask a man out on a date. [Insert David Attenborough voiceover here]. Instead, women traditionally entwine their pursuer in a game of cat and mouse, giving no clues as to whether she’s interested or not. A guy can give chase for weeks or months like this, before he captures his prey (if he’s lucky). French women believe that, by embarking on such a risky process, the man has then demonstrated the utmost devotion and romanticism. Conveniently, this process also ensures that the woman will never be regarded as ‘easy’. [Aussie guys, I hope you realise how apparently ‘easy’ you have it.]
Another friend confessed that he knew I wasn’t French the moment he saw me. Not because I looked particularly foreign, but simply because I smiled at him. “French women don’t smile,” he told me. Cue montage of Victorian Beckham-esque faces of all the impeccably-dressed women I’d passed on the streets in the days prior. And as these images flashed before my eyes I realised how right he was. And, I wondered why women living in the most beautiful city in the world couldn’t manage a smile, and then... cue light bulb. French women don’t need to smile. They’ve been brought up with the knowledge that they’ll get what they want without having to lift a (cheek) muscle for it. So with this realisation, and a very big smile, I told my French friend: “You’ve made your bed, so lie in it.” (Which is probably why so many choose to lie in someone else’s.)
Whilst I think I’ve covered the most common clichés, there are some other pearlers that deserve to be addressed:
- They really don’t wear stripes that often.
- They do always carry baguettes, and so do I, because the bread is just so damned good here.
- They do ride bikes a lot, but not often while wearing a beret and even less often while carrying a baguette.
- French women don’t like body hair as much as we think they do (and, no, I do not write from personal experience – sorry boys).
- They don’t get fat because, unlike the rest of us greedy b*stards, they have learned the art of moderation (despite the bread and the wine and the cheese and the pastries!).
- They never surrender—well, they don't back down in an argument anyway. The French are always right, and the sooner you (pretend that you) understand that, the happier you'll be (because the conversation will be over).
- They really aren’t arrogant; they're just content in the knowledge that they live in one of the two best countries in the world and you, unless you're French or Australian, don't.
Bek x
