Saturday, May 31, 2008

Paris: Tennis at Roland Garros

The French Open, or Roland Garros as it is known here, has started. When we in France say Roland Garros, we mean the tournament and not just the place where it takes place (as when we say Flushing Meadow for the US Open or Melbourne Park for the Australian Open…it is more equivalent to the sense that the name Wimbledon evokes a whole lot more than just the name where the tournament takes place, at least among tennis followers).
That said, Rolland Garros cannot be more different than Wimbledon. Whereas Wimbledon is played on grass, Rolland Garros is on red clay that is whole lot slower than grass. In Wimbledon, you may blink and miss a great shot, at Rolland Garros, you can take a long siesta and you might not have missed a thing. The French are mighty proud of Rolland Garros (and don’t even dare saying that at Rolland Garros even insomniacs would fall asleep…the French would patiently explain that on clay, one has to “construct” points and that patience, patience, patience really are the magic words that make a difference between winners and losers on the slow clay). Watching Roland Garros on tv, it is also interesting to hear running French commentaries (normally by male commentators) exhalting the physical beauty of certain women's players (the model-like young lady Miss X; the beautiful smile of the young Miss X....for instance) that just would not pass in American or Australian tv!

An observation that might strike non French at Roland Garros is the enormous pressure it seems to place on home players. If American players seem to relish and shine when playing at their home turf (the US Open), French playes seem to positively wilt at Rolland Garros. It is no accident that Amélie Mauresmo, the most reveled French player at the moment, has won her two Grand Slams in Australia and at Wimbledon and has never gone further than the quarter final at Rolland Garros. And who is the last French winner at Rolland Garros? None other than the very French Mary Pierce (who to her credit can now speak French fluently…since a couple of years now) and has more and more affirmed her “Frenchness”.

Why do French players wilt like fragile flowers under too strong light at their beloved Roland? I ask myself this question as a tennis fan. The answer might very well be what the press has been saying all along and more: too much pressure, too high expectation on the broad shoulders of these players. But there is more. Granted the French I find very tolerant of shortcomings that are human nature. For instance, they may think that you are a jerk for holding an opinion that differs from their own, but they still respect you if you stick to your gun. Or they may indeed recognize loudly your shortcomings (unlike the rule of silence like “when you cannot say something nice, don’t say anything at all”) but this does not mean that they like your good qualities any less! Yet, despite this, the French still like winners and hate losers. I think this was beautifully put by Mary Pierce who has had her share of love and hate relationship with the Roland Garros public: I am French when I win and not French when I lose. Now with an attitude like that, no wonder that the loveable Amélie is often so rigidly wooden whenever she enters the main court to play. And no wonder only French lesser players shine up to a certain point (the may win a round or two more than expected) at Roland, but never those who are expected to win. The stand-up French comic Roumanoff said it beautifully about what the French think of their sportpersons and athletes (often of minority groups except for tennis): You are French when you win and Black when you lose!

This year’s Roland Garros started in a fashion that unwillingly resembled Wimbledon: it rained, rained and rained. But thank goodness the sun is back if a bit shyly. However, after the loss of both Serena and Venus Williams, the organisers might very well have wished for rain the day when both sisters lost unexpectedly (the Williams though not near as dominant as they used to be still represent a huge draw card for women’s tennis….and to their credit, they still make even bigger news when they lose). Now that the exciting players (at least on the women’s side) are gone, and the moist clay is making play even slower, we can take long siestas and not miss a thing…..Apart from Serena in 2002, no American has won the French open for a long time (Mary Pierce is French remember, even if she sounds more American than French even when speaking French). Well, patience never being a valued trait among Americans, we may have to wait a long long time before seeing an American champ at Roland.

Hint for tennis enthusiasts who happen to be in Paris during Roland Garros: You can get a ground ticket (gives you the right to see all the outside courts but not the central court) in ticket booths at the entrance for the same day. In the early days, all outside courts may just feature your favorite players.

Paris, metro and lovers

Whenever I start complaining about life to visiting friends, they never failed to look at me funny as if I had just said the dumbest thing! Inevitably they would then look around and raised their arms as if to say 'words escape me," though the message is clear: You live in Paris, how could you complain about anything at all? Well, this really gets my goat (hey, I think I am beginning to be a real Parisian) and will start reeling off my bad Paris list. Here now, I want to complain about the metro. If as a tourist long ago I used to marvel at the convenience and the freedom the metro offers and admired the stations that reflect the quartier where they are (Metro Musee du Louvre, for instance, has the look of a museum complete with statues and other art; and when you step off the train at Arts et Metiers you'd think you had just stepped into a submarine) and even danced to the music of the accordion played by street (or metro) musicians. Living here has changed all that a bit. Now the word metro, like for most Parisians, evoke crowd, sweat and basically a means of transport to get from A to B (sad, huh). The Parisian life has indeed been summarized as ‘boulot metro dodo” which basically means “work, metro, sleep” (and some lucky bastards would say it’s more like boulot metro sodo dodo..need I translate 'sodo"? oh well).
As I am not a morning person, my mornings would be spent sipping my coffee and under the hot shower way too long before I rushed out to go to my metro station. At the moment, I live near the metro Anvers. Now this metro station only has one exit/entrance, yet it is a major stop for most tourists as it is also the station closest to Sacré Coeur. But tourists are tourists, and they don’t think there are other people who have to get to work and have to move fast. So after waiting for a group of tourists looking for their ticket, figuring out which way to put the ticket into the turnstile etc. etc. while standing there preventing other people to pass, I made it into the train (line 2) which would be crowded all the way to Charles de Gaulle Etoile (where the tourists also go to visit l’Arc de Triomphe or the way too famous for reasons that are probably long gone now: the avenue Champs Elysées). Getting off at Etoile I would be huffing it to get my connexion (line 6) which is no mean feat when the corridors are narrow and the tourists move leisurely in groups that just cover the width of the corridor. Anyhow, still huffing and puffing I got to the train just as the signal sounds and made it to the train after almost being cut in two by the closing doors. Now, after all that, the train moved soooo slowly and stop at the next station for ever and ever. The conductor then said something that is incomprehensible as the speakers evidently were always either too muffled or too loud that you just cover your ears.....the train finally moved again only to stop for another eternity at the next station. Now if you’re already late for work, this is becoming quite a cardiac sport.
Finally, my stop. This is also another major tourist stop (Trocadero). So, you understand if I look at tourists now with dagger eyes! They are blocking my way to get to work and they make the train ride crowded and uncomfortable. But mostly, Ok I admit, I guess I am jealous that I have become a jaded Parisian and have somehow stopped taking the time to admire all the beautiful things that surround me, hey, that I live with everyday! I suppose I should get a lover…since it is said that if you are in Paris with a lover it’s like you experience Paris all over for the first time again…but who has time to find a lover when there’s a metro to catch …

Hints for visitors: You can buy a one week ticket if you stay that long in Paris (called Passe Navigo which can be valid for a week, a month or a year). There are also Paris visite tickets that give you discounts to museums and other attractions. Or you can buy a carnet de tickets (a set of ten tickets with reduced price compared to buying ten individual tickets).

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Paris non smoking

Finally, the (no) smoking law is here. The day that I dreaded arrived on the 1st of the year. And typical of the French, this was declared the day of ‘tolerance.’ Forget about tolerance as we know it among people of different creeds and colors (France despite its apparent multiculturalism still has a hard time thinking that it is a multicultural society), tolerance here means that on that day, we could still puff away in cafes and bars and restaurants. After that, it’s some seven hundred euros fine for the restaurant or bar or café owner and 68 euros for the person smoking.

The first non tolerance day actually went quite well which really surprised me. The French think that rules and laws are there to be broken (you can observer motorcyclists on sidewalks, drivers who do not respect traffic lights or going to the wrong way of a one way street!). Yet the smoking law actually got respected despite complaints that I hear from everyone all around me.
As for me, never had I felt so deprived. Gone are the days when I will bring work to a café, find my favourite table from where I can watch people go by when work becomes too boring, get served good strong coffee and smoke many cigarettes.

The familiar sight in Melbourne where people (office workers) are huddled against building trying to protect themselves from rain and wind whist smoking a cigarette, can now be seen here. And given that cafes often are found on the ground floor of residential buildings, I am sure those living just above the cafes have much to complain about as smokers talk loudly just below their windows. There are also stories where restaurant clients under the guise of smoking a cigarette went outside and never came back and leaving their bill unpaid.

What I have noticed in my circle is that our time in restaurants has really been shortened. Whereas before, we would smoke a cigarette between courses, now that this is not possible, we would speed through the courses and clear out to smoke a cigarette. This is a sin in a place where food really is part of the cultural activities that is supposed to be enjoyed leisurely…
In neighbourhood cafes where generally we whiled away the hours discussing nothing passionately, people now just come drink their coffee and go. How I missed those times when you can really bond with people you normally don’t cross in your everyday lives.

Luckily there are terraces and now that the weather is improving somewhat (but yes, I have sat outside in freezing weather to drink my coffee with a cigarette, as do many Parisians). But this is not the same as standing at the bar and chatting away with whoever is there. I supposed that’s another aspect of Parisian life that is gone now.
I remember with a pang the complaints Americans always had arriving at Charles de Gaulle airport: people (you bet they were French) smoking under the no smoking signs and the smoky terminal building despite it being a smoke free building. Well, now the air is clean and life is just, how will I put it, a little bit less French?

Hints for smokers visiting Paris: At CDG airport, you have to get out of the terminal to smoke. In the city, many terraces now has outside heaters where you can take your coffee or meals and have the right to smoke. A packet of cigarettes cost about 5 euros 30 cents in France.

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Paris frogs and prince charming

They say that you’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs before finally finding your prince charming. Well, I don’t know if the person who uttered this wise thought was referring to the French (=frogs) or not. But certainly kissing lots of frogs in search of the one big love is much more enjoyable in France. To begin with, most of them are quite charming, at least when they are feeling sexy. Being charming or being brilliant indeed is a characteristic that seems necessary for survival in France. Whereas in the US and Australia being nice seems to smooth a lot of social interaction (and get you lots of goodies), here charm and wit seem to be more important. Being charming includes a lot of things like appearance (you look at someone and you can say Mmmm he looks just charming), behavior and body language (such as smile and how you move) or verbal behaviour (how you speak). Last but by no means not least, the content of what you say is important too. Related to this last, you just have to be smart, or have the conviction that you ARE smart (no matter what the reality is).

My French friends all consider themselves a bit of smart (if not charming) politicians and seriously take themselves as somewhat experts (or at least no less expert than others) on the subject. This makes for interesting if somewhat a bit tense for my taste dinner parties. In Australia and in the US, at dinner parties we attempt to get to know other guests. In Parisian soirée, people indeed would introduce themselves to everyone present (and kisses are exchanged between men and women…and handshakes between men), but after that it’s all fair game to impose your convictions on diverse subjects and to quash the opinion you don't agree with. I try to figure this out, in my American and Australian dinners, we get interested in new people and attempt to get to know them and expect the same interest in return. There is a law of reciprocity there and the norm guiding our behaviour is to maintain involvement of everyone (I bet you have tried, in one of your dinner parties, to change the subject of conversation so that everyone will be included). The norm that guides dinner parties here seems more self-affirmation against a public that one supposes by default is ready to say that you are not who you think you are, mate. In both cases I guess we strive for confirmation of who we are, by nicely affirming the self image conveyed by others (that I am a nice guy, and you show me that you find me nice) or by imposing on others to acknowledge who we are even if begrudgingly.

I have to admit though, that on average I think the French are more informed about the political situation, domestic or international, compared to the more insular American friends that I have. Still, I do miss dinners where we just get along and forget “performance” for a while…I remember a dinner party in Melbourne where practically everyone there had a doctoral degree or equivalent and all night long we talked about sex from A to Z…At 3 am, someone piped out saying : Gee, I wonder what the uneducated people talk about at dinner parties?

So, to get your prince charming, getting on your knees when he enters the room and speak only when spoken to is not going to do it...you have to bedazzle him with your charm and wit and knowledge. If that sounds like a tall order, don"t despair, if you stay with the frogs long enough, you will find them charming in the end too. Familiarity breeds liking remember ?

Hints: Tha major newspapers in Paris (France) are Le Monde (center), La Liberation (left) and le Figaro (rightist). English newspapers such as the International Herald Tribue are often available in newsagents (kiosks presse). When invited, best not to come early or on time, there is the quarter of an hour rule of lateness that hosts or hostesses could use to tackle last minute rushes. A bottle of wine is always welcome when invited for dinner.

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Paris ccccchhhhhanges

Having finally found an apartment, I moved bit by bit my belongings from the old to the new apartment. Compared to the US, moving in Paris is a big production that can totally occupy one’s existence.
First, finding an apartment is already so time consuming and the process of applying for the apartment extremely nerve-wrecking. Having a permanent job (or what they call Contrat à Durée Indéterminé) does not do it anymore; indeed, you need everyone under the sun to be your guarantors! Parents or siblings or other family members are best, and friends do not really count. This presents a problem for me who rely on friends since all my family is outside France (and to be a guarantor you need to pay taxes in France!). That definitely limits the apartments that I can apply for from the first go. Then, all the money that you have to dish out: The agent’s fee (which when you add the other fees you may not know about can be significantly more than one month’s rent), the two months security deposit that they ask and of course the first month’s rent. Despite a reasonable salary, my application for a couple apartments got refused. This made me lose several nights of sleep (Hey, I had to move out of my apartment by a certain date, and the space under the beautiful Paris bridges are generally occupied already)
Then, when you find an apartment, the next worry is moving. Now, many streets in Paris are narrow and you cannot always park your car right in front of your building without blocking the traffic entirely (fine for 5 minutes but do it longer and you have the crazy French drivers honking and insulting you for sure). And if you lived on the upper floors without elevator (as many old buildings in Paris are), well, 5 minutes is just to negotiate from your floor to the one below your rather big objects via the narrow stairway. Add to that the task of finding friends who could help you. In order to avoid traffic and mad drivers (because your car would be blocking the street even for a short time), most people move either very early in the morning or late at night. In my case, the weekend is hell as well as that is when everyone in Paris and their relations seem to decide to come to the quartier where I was living. So, it was very early in the morning that we had to do it, under the unsympathetic eyes of awakened neighbors. It is no wonder that most Parisians stay in their rented apartment a lot longer than what I am used to in Melbourne or San Francisco for example.
Now in my new apartment, my new quartier could not be more different than the old one. Right in Montmartre at the foot of the basilic Sacré Coeur (ok, in both quartiers you still find lots of tourists, but different kinds of tourists…now I bump into many more bussed tourists in groups), my new quartier is probably more true Parisian with its mixed population from the bourgeois to young professionals to musicians to artists to immigrants. Life here feels more real than it did in my old quartier (Le Marais) where everything and everyone is beautiful even early in the morning but especially late at night. And not being exactly snow white, I must say that I feel less of an intruder in this colourful neighbourhood.
And the bonus, a gay bar with a backroom is only a street away!

Hints for those who wish to rent an apartment in Paris, furnished and short term: There are now real estate agents who specialize in renting short term furnished apartments. They may be more expensive than the market price but practical, consultable via their English language websites and can take care of the administrative rules nightmare that might be unfamiliar to non residents.
The gaybar I am talking about in my new neighborhood is MecZone (Metro Anvers), a bar with backroom frequented by locals and a few tourists.