Category Archives: French customs

Croatia, French customs

Showers I Have Known

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I’m very fussy about my shower. First,  I want to be able to attach it to the wall. Now if you think that’s a strange thing to say, it’s because you haven’t been to France.  Or you’ve only stayed at my place or in four-star hotels. The first time I ever came across a hand-held shower, I was mystified. Particularly since it was attached to a bath without a curtain or a partition. I can remember taking the kids on beach holidays and having to demonstrate how to have a shower bath without flooding the bathroom at the same time. Not that they ever really managed. I thought that Relationnel, being French, would have the technique. Not so. If we stay in a hotel or a gîte without a curtain, I make sure I have my shower first.

While we’re on the subject of curtains and partitions, that is something else I am fussy about.  I can remember being in Greece many long years ago where my accommodation was fairly basic. There was usually a very large shower room but no shower cubicle or curtain, just a shower (attached to the ceiling though). As there was nothing else in the room (except my towel and dry clothes), it didn’t matter all that much. I found a large plastic bag to put everything in and hang on the hook (when there was one) or put on the floor in the opposite corner (when there wasn’t).

In the first house I bought in France, there was a bathroom with a sunken shower tray, a shower attached to the wall, a wash basin, a bidet and a toilet. But no curtain or partition.  I finally asked the daughter of the house why the shower was completely open. She said that it was her mother’s way of getting them all to clean the bathroom. Hmm. I immediately bought a curtain rail and a curtain. I’m not keen on those glass cubicles. They may be fine in a hot country but when you’re having your shower in a cooler country, particularly during heating season, they’re perfect while you’re in there. But when you turn off the shower and step out, wow!  The cold air massively hits you.  Curtains do not have that drawback. They’re also easier to clean. Just buy the nylon ones and put them in the washing machine every couple of weeks.

Next, the water temperature has to be right, which means that anywhere else except North Queensland in summer, I want it to be hot.  Not lukewarm or, even worse, what the French call a Scottish shower (douche écossaise) – scalding one minute and freezing the next. Why Scottish, you wouldn’t know and even my French expression reference site doesn’t know the origin. Seems it might refer to some sort of hydrotherapy they used to use there. Not my scene.

After that I want pressure. This is something you can’t always do anything about. It depends on the water tower. I don’t remember seeing water towers in Australia but they’re all over the place here, sometimes very plain, sometimes just ugly, sometimes decorated with fresques and sometimes used for advertising. There’s one in Le Crotoy in Normandy, for example, that has a beach and hot air balloon painted on it. They pump the water up to the top and then let it go and the pressure acquired on the way down is what provides the pressure at the tap. I think that’s ingenious. It’s called a “château d’eau”, what’s more. If you google “chateau d’eau” images, you’ll find the most amazing collection.

Now it’s no good having hot water and good pressure if the shower head is clogged up. This happens when the water is hard, meaning it has a lot of lime in it. I remember my sister used to unclog the holes with a pin when we used to go the Island on holidays as children. My obsession with showers obviously goes back a long way. But there is a much more effective way. You soak it in ordinary vinegar. We always take a bottle away with us (when we’re travelling by car of course). As soon as we get there, Relationnel cuts off the top of the plastic bottle and sticks the shower head in it for a few hours. You have to be able to unhook the shower of course. It’s miraculous. A perfect, even shower.

I was very interested to see the showers in Croatia in the flats we rented this summer. They were all the same. A stand-alone cubicle with sliding curved glass doors (it was hot enough not to be blasted with cold air when you got out). The only problem with the bathrooms there is that none of them have towel racks. Or hooks for that matter. It was in Dubrovnik that we finally discovered what we were supposed to do with our wet towels (I still don’t know where you put them while you’re having your shower). One day, we were out and the owner dropped by to take a folding bed out of the flat. When we got back, our towels were nowhere to be seen. Then we found them. He had hung them out the window on the lines overhanging the mediaeval street below. Different countries, different customs.

What is your experience of showers ?

 

Cycling, French customs, Slovenia

Another Country, Another Language: from Taipei to Ljubljana

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We were in Taipei on a 24-hour stopover on our way to Australia and Black Cat must have been about twelve.  The language barrier was not easy as very few people spoke English once you set foot outside the hotel. Black Cat was quite scandalised at my lack of preparation. She was used to being able to communicate with people in two languages. “Mum, we don’t even know how to say hello, goodbye, please and thankyou!”. It was a lesson to me. I’ve made sure ever since that I can say those four words in the language of whatever country I visit.  And I’ve added “excuse me” and “do you speak English” for good measure. They certainly open many doors.

Being able to download dictionaries and automatic translation apps on your iPhone and computer definitely makes things easier. There are a lot of apps to teach you basic words and phrases along with pronunciation. Definitely a bonus when we went to Croatia last summer.  I practised away beforehand saying “dober dan” and “dobro jutro”, “hvala” and “molim” until I felt comfortable with them. I was delighted to learn that I could use them in Slovenia too.

The French have a terrible reputation with languages. I had a funny experience twice last summer in Ljubljana in Slovenia. We were in the tourist office waiting for a cycling map and I was speaking to Relationnel in French. When it was my turn, I spoke to the young man behind the desk in English. After a few exchanges he asked me where I was from. “France”. “Are you a teacher then ?” “Why ?” “Your English is too good to be French”. I had to laugh! So I explained I was really Australian. He looked reassured.

Dragon Bridge with Ljubljana's mascot

On another occasion, we were pushing our bikes up a steep hill that definitely shouldn’t have been part of the bike route, particularly at the end of the day, when a young woman asked if she could help me. I thanked her but thought I should really push the bike myself. However, she kept me company and chatted as we went along. She asked if I was Canadian. She had heard me speaking French with Relationnel but after hearing my English couldn’t believe I was French. What a reputation …

A word about the Slovenia biking experience while we’re on the subject. Ljubljana is really set up for bikes. They have rent-a-bikes in the street like they do in Paris and there are lots of bike paths in the city. But, for some reason, they don’t have a proper bike map. However, the young man in the tourist office found me a map that had a little dotted line around the city that was supposed to be a bike route. It was a bit worrying to see that it went off the map at times but we decided to give it a try. It was supposed to be 34 K so we left at 3.30 pm, following signs marked POT (and sometimes 88). Very occasionally, the letters PS were indicated on the ground showing a change of direction. We liked those.

Well, we started out on flat ground, riding past weeping willows and beautiful gardens and really enjoying ourselves. Twice we had to take shelter from showers of rain but otherwise the weather was fine and warm.  We wound our way through residential areas, industrial estates and low income housing all surrounded with lots of trees and shrubs. Sometimes we had to backtrack because we’d loose the POT and 88 and PS signs.  As a result, it took much longer than it was supposed to.

The real challenge came when we suddenly found ourselves out in the countryside, riding past fields of wheat and saw to our dismay that the road led into a forest and up a steep hill. The path had horizontal logs about every meter practically all the way along to stop the ground sliding when it rains I imagine. I don’t know how you are supposed to ride a bike up there. Even coming down on the other side was a bit dicey. I had to keep getting off so that I wouldn’t go head first over the logs. Of course, when we got out of the forest, we discovered we could have taken a road around and not up the hill. It ended up being 42 K and we didn’t get home until 9 pm by which time I was exhausted!  We found a lovely place for dinner though. And I forgot to mention – Ljubljana is one of my favourite places.

Australian customs, French customs

Universities in France and Australia

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When I enrolled at Dauphine University in Paris to do my post-graduate translation diploma at ESIT many long years ago, I was rather shocked at the environment. It was located in a  high-rise building (and the toilets were disgusting). When I started teaching there 15 years ago, it was no better. Only the toilets were slightly cleaner.They finally spruced up the outside and did up the wing I work in and are now renovating the entrance hall. They also refurbished the canteen area a couple of years ago.

I did French honours at James Cook University in North Queensland. It has a magnificent campus practically out in the bush. The wallabies used to come in from the surrounding hills in the evening. The library takes up a whole building. The library at Dauphine takes up one floor and there are certainly no individual desks for the students to work at. During exam periods, you see them all sitting on the floor in the corridors. Our wing is a bit better because we are actually a school within a school and have fewer students. Compared with the Dauphine students, we have luxury surroundings.  At least they don’t have to sit on the floor.

When Black Cat did her first year of post-grad at the University of Queensland a few years ago, she used to skype me from one of the cafés on campus. I couldn’t believe it. At the time, we didn’t even have wifi inside our building. So I campaigned until we got it. A couple of years back, I lectured in terminology and needed an internet connection for the course. I was assigned a lecture theatre in a new area downstairs where the walls were too thick for a wireless connection. I asked for a cable connection and it took THREE MONTHS to get them to connect it during my 1 ½ hour weekly class. They were afraid of the students using it. I couldn’t believe it. OK, ESIT is not part of Dauphine (for historical reasons, we are part of Paris Nouvelle Sorbonne University which is over the other side of Paris) but even so, I thought that was pretty inefficient.

I then pushed to have a room equipped with computers to hold our translation classes. I even got the quotes (we’re multi-task here). A computer is a compulsory tool for a translator today, as you may well imagine. It finally happened and I immediately claimed the room before anyone else did. All last year, I was allowed to use it as a special favour because the student security system wasn’t functioning. This year, that problem has been solved but they still haven’t connected up the permanent video projector so I have to count on our somewhat moody technician to set up the laptop and portable projector for me. This involves getting there early and checking that he hasn’t forgotten me. And when he’s not there for some reason, I have to do it myself.

The e-learning platform we’re supposed to use has been down since classes went back in September. Fortunately I have a cluey student who suggested zoho docs so I’m using that. At least I’m sure it’ll work. Whenever I complain and point out that the facilities in Australia are much better, I get the answer that the students are not paying the same fees. They did in my day, but that’s changed now of course. In France, the yearly fees range from 174 to 564 euros (230 to 750 Australian dollars) a year plus compulsory social security which is about 150 euros (200 dollars). I gather the fees are a little higher than that in Australia … President Sarkozy has a big plan to develop university campuses, make each university autonomous and charge much higher fees. This has understandably met with a lot of opposition and the latest news is that two of the universities have gone broke. Haven’t noticed any campuses yet.

Ah well, only another semester to go because I’ve decided this will be my last year of teaching.

French customs, Paris

Driving in Paris

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Place de l'Etoile NOT at peak hour

One thing I won’t miss when we move to Blois in 2 ½ years time is Parisian traffic. Not that I mind driving in Paris. When all’s said and done I think it’s pretty organised despite appearances to the contrary. The people know what they’re doing. They may not be particularly polite but it works and they don’t blow their horns much either. What you can’t do is hesitate. As you’re charging across Place de l’Etoile with its 12 avenues (no one calls it Place Charles de Gaulle by the way, just as they always call the airport Roissy), you just have keep your eyes on the right and judge the speed of the cars and you’ll have no problem. But if you don’t know exactly where you’re going to get off, it’s better to take the outer circle around the Arc de Triomphe.  It may take longer, because you’ll have to wait for the lights every time, but it’s less stressful when you’re a beginner. That’s what I did until I accidentally got onto the Place itself.

I love taking my Aussie visitors there. I remember Paul Casita from Townsville. I could feel him cringing at my side in terreur (the passenger on the right often feels more vulnerable I must admit) but he was determined to give it a try himself. So he went and sat in a café up the top end of the Champs Elysées (pronounced shonz-elizay by the way) and watched the people go by. When he saw a little old lady whizz up Avenue Kleber, shoot across half the Place at breaknecking speed in virtually a straight line and zip off down Avenue McMahon on the other side without turning a hair, he decided he could do it too. And he survived!

And it’s not the street parking that’s really a problem. Ever noticed how close the cars get to each other when they parallel park? Well, that’s what bumper bars are for. You gently nudge the car in front (no one puts their hand brake on unless they’re on a slope) and then the car behind as you worm your way in. Just leave 5 centimeters on either side and you’ll be fine. The funny thing is that parking is largely ignored when they teach you to drive. I got Black Cat to spend hours on a vacant parking lot during weekends so she could learn how to do it properly. It paid off. She can park with the best of them.

Velib at Dauphine University

What I don’t like is the number of cars on the road. The Greenies have been trying to do something about it, with dedicated bus lanes, Vélib’ bikes (you know, the ones they’ve stupidly put in Brisbane) and soon Autolib’ cars (coming on 5th December). The trouble is that it’s just made more traffic jams because there’s one lane less for the cars on most of the main avenues. The people like me who are going to obstinately drive their car when they go outside the city centre certainly don’t rent Vélibs and Autolibs. They’re used by people who would have taken the bus or the metro or the train. Admittedly I don’t drive to uni at Porte Dauphine any more, even though I have free underground parking at the other end. The trip back down the Champs Elysées  (shonz-elizay, remember) at 6 pm can be dauntingly slow and you have to keep your eyes peeled for the tourists who stand in the middle of the road taking photos of each other with the Arc de Triomphe behind them.

So, just remember, the clue to driving in Paris is knowing where you’re going. So bring your Tom-Tom!

Australian customs, French customs

Australia: A Culture Shock

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Leonardo’s now been in Sydney for a month and has started a new job. He’s finding the situation in the workplace very different from France. The thing that bothers him most is that people don’t take time to socialise. He says he doesn’t understand it because if people don’t know each other, he doesn’t see how they can work together efficiently.

The first thing is saying “hello” in the morning. If you’re ever been in France, I’m sure you’ve seen people arrive in a bar and give everyone they know a kiss on both cheeks (even twice in some cases). When kids get to school in the morning, they do the same. At work, you always do the rounds of colleagues when you arrive, saying “bonjour” and shaking hands or kissing them (depending on which sex you are, how well you know the people and how casual the atmosphere is). And if you run into someone a second time during the same day, you say “re” meaning “rebonjour”» to show you’ve already seen them and said the first “bonjour”.

It took me a while to learn this when I started teaching at uni. I thought I was being perfectly polite when I said, “Excuse me, do you think I could have the key to the class room?” But no. I hadn’t greeted the person. One woman in particular would always reply “Bonjour” in an insistent sort of way. Then I’d say “bonjour” back. After that, I could ask for the key. I felt foolish, I must confess, but she was no doubt doing me a favour. Everyone probably thought I was rude! Now I go and say « bonjour » to everyone when I arrive.

Here, you say “bonjour” or “messieurs dames” to the people waiting in the doctor’s surgery for instance (only using “messieurs dames” if the company’s mixed obviously). You throw out a general “bonjour” when you walk into a bakery or a butcher’s or anywhere else where you intend to buy something. Clothes shops are not the same because you might just be browsing although saying “bonjour” will always be appreciated.

And with all this “bonjouring” you obviously have to say “au revoir” when you leave. Dashing off at the end of the day without saying goodbye to all your colleagues is definitely frowned upon.

Practices seems to be very different in Australia, though, according to Leonardo. Yesterday, one of his co-workers suggested he and another co-worker go grab a coffee. They all walked down to the coffee machine. Leonardo then expected them to take five or ten minutes for a chat around the coffee machine the way they do in France. No such luck. To his amazement, they all went back up and drank their coffee in front of their computers!

Another problem he’s come up against is that all the shops close at 6 pm so he doesn’t know when he can do his shopping.  He said there’s late closing on Thursdays but that’s all. They close even earlier on Saturdays. In Paris, shops tend to open later and close later, often staying open until 7.30 or 8 pm and even later if they sell food. Saturday is a full day and they’re often closed on Monday because the law regulations say all employees must have two days off in a row each week. It’s a bit different outside Paris where opening times tend to be stricter, 9 am to 12.30 and 2 pm to 7 pm.

Anyone got any suggestions to help Leonardo adjust?

Australian customs, French customs

Things that Disappear and Reappear

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Are you one of those people (like me) who has a problem with things that mysteriously “disappear”? I wouldn’t say I actually lose them. They just don’t seem to be where they should. The gold bracelet Relationnel gave me when we got married fell off a while ago. Fortunately, I felt it happening and saved it. I then carried it around in a zippered pouch in my bag for ages with the intention of getting it fixed. When I finally managed to get to the jeweller’s, it had disappeared. I was most upset of course and didn’t want to tell Relationnel about it but finally admitted it. Then recently, we were in Dieppe around my birthday and he bought me another one which is really lovely.

Today, I was looking for something else that had diappeared – my mp3 player – and, lo and behold, what should I find in the bottom of a bag I sometimes take away with me: a little jewellery box with my broken bracelet in it! I looked at my wrist and to my horror, the other bracelet was gone. However, it didn’t take long to retrieve it. I try to remember to take off my jewellery at home before I go to the swimming pool and sometimes I forget so put it in a zippered pouch in my swimming bag. Thank god it was still there.

And then the strangest thing. I looked in the drawer next to my desk where I usually keep the mp3 and it had turned up again. Now how do you explain that? It wasn’t there last time I looked I’m sure …

Recently, I did actually lose something. I had put two cheques in an envelope with a deposit slip – they’re pre-filled in here so your name and address is on the slip. When I got to the bank, the cheques had disappeared. I didn’t really pay much attention because I had actually taken them out of one envelope and put them in another before I left home so I just assumed I’d picked up the wrong envelope.  We hadn’t been home long when my work phone rang. Strange on a Sunday. A man introduced himself and said he’d found my cheques with the deposit slip on the pavement.  He said he’d send them to me by post. He’d tracked me down in the Yellow Pages.

I hesitated to tell Relationnel. He’s one of those people who always puts things immediately back in their place after he’s used them for instance. No way would he be walking around with an unsealed envelope containing two cheques.  He’s always annoyingly checking up on me about that sort of thing. I eventually told him though and he was surprisingly supportive saying I must be over-tired! Anyway, I followed the Australian tradition and bought a “lotto” ticket and sent it off, explaining what it was all about. In France, they don’t have any equivalent way of thanking someone for doing you a favour.

What’s the tradition in your country?

French customs

French Cling Film and Band-Aids

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I can remember translating a text about plastics with my students once. That year, they came from Canada, the US, the UK and Ireland. Cling film was mentioned and it sparked off a most vehement hate session about French products and film étirable in particular. First, instead of having a metal serrated edge to tear off the film, the box has inefficient tiny plastic teeth. No comment. Second, the film itself is sticky and flimsy and has to be handled with great care and two hands (once you’ve managed to unstick it after finally managing to tear it off and half break the box). I understood them totally. Relationnel and I went to London one year in the car and I bought back 10 boxes of real cling film from Marks & Sparks. I’ve only just run out of it and now I have to devise all sorts of ways of NOT using the stuff you get here.

I purposely didn’t bring my kids up on Vegemite because it seemed a bit pointless to have to keep relying on gifts from visiting Aussies who already found it difficult to limit their baggage to 20 kilos. You can of course get it at Fauchon’s – you can get anything at Fauchon’s on Place de la Madeleine – but I lived in the suburbs in those days and the sheer thought of trekking into Paris with two kids in tow was often too much for me. The first time Leonardo smelled Vegemite, he ran a mile anyway and I had to be very careful I didn’t eat it near him after that. He has a very keen sense of smell. I still get a kick out of the occasional little jar of Vegemite to put on butter and toast. Haven’t had one for a long time though.

Bacon is something you can’t get here. There’s a thing they call bacon but it’s roundish and thin and doesn’t have the tail bit that you need for a crisp piece of fried bacon to eat with your eggs. My mouth’s watering just thinking of it! They don’t have T-bone either. Well, most places don’t and when they do it’s not real T-bone. When I was a kid and we spent three or four days in a row travelling down the coast from Townsville to Brisbane on holidays (it was only years afterwards that I really understood why Mum and Dad weren’t talking to each other by Rockhampton – there were six of us in the car), we’d have lunch in roadside cafés and there’d be T-bone on the menu. Dad would never let me have it because he reckoned I’d never finish it. I finally persuaded him and ATE THE LOT. After that, he couldn’t say no. I’ve loved it ever since. They have côte de boeuf here instead which really isn’t bad. It’s just missing the smaller side of the T and is thicker. Also, it’s really for two people. Even I can’t eat a whole one.

The last time we were going back to Australia, I asked Townsvillean if he wanted anything from France. And do you know what he said? Pansements. Band-aids, you want band-aids? He particularly wanted URGO. Apparently Australian band-aids are inferior and don’t stick properly whereas the ones here do.  See, just like the cling film! I guess that’s a French quality. They know how to make things stick.

So, tell me, what are your bugbears and favourites from other places?

French customs, Paris, Prague

Buskers in Paris and Prague

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When I came up out of an overcrowded metro the other day onto Place de Valois at 6.30 pm (now why didn’t I take the bus like a real Parisian? because there’s no direct bus to uni so I’d have to take two), there was this fellow playing the piano. Isn’t that amazing? A real piano! Not like Vienna, which I used to think was the music capital before I went there. Not a single busker the whole time we were there. Lots of expensive concerts, ALL playing medleys and there’s nothing I dislike more. I like to choose the music I’m going to listen to in a concert hall.

Prague on the other hand was full of musicians. Everywhere you turned there was a band or singers. It was wonderful! Prague remains one of my favourite destinations, despite the food, but the Italian restaurants saved the day. What I particularly like is being able to go right down to the river banks to have a drink or a meal. You can’t do that in Paris though they’re in the process of doing something about it. All sorts of things are in the making for the banks of the Seine.

Paris has a good share of buskers. You often find them in the metro, though the quality of their performance varies. Around our area there are a few regular musicians. Often on a Saturday afternoon around 3, a full orchestra comes to the Place Colette in front of the Comédie Française. They appear to be eastern European and probably students as they change from one year to the next. If you get there at the right time, you can sit and have a drink on the terrace of the Le Nemours. They have their favourites of course (medleys are fine outdoors) and cater to the tourists but they usually play pretty well. On Sunday there was a very enthusiastic brass band on Place du Palais Royal which made a change.

We used to have a very mournful saxophonist over the other side of the Palais Royal gardens. He always played the same thing and it used to drive me spare. So one day I went to see him to ask if he could play something else. He turned out to be a Pom and told me regretfully that he only knew one tune. Fortunately the weather improved and he took his saxophone somewhere else. Another regular on a Sunday afternoon is an opera singer down near the music box shop. She draws a huge crowd.

A long long time ago, when we lived in the suburbs (almost seems another lifetime now), Black Cat and I used to play the piano and Leonardo played the clarinette. I used to hold musical afternoons with the neighbours. We had a cello, a violin, another clarinette, some other pianists and a singer, plus a few triangles and other things of that ilk. But any ability to play has long since left me I’m afraid. I couldn’t even remember where middle C was recently when I had the piano tuned. But now that we have our Aussie exchange student, Brainy Pianist, we have our own private concert before dinner on a Thursday. I love it!

French customs, Paris

Buses in Paris

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Real Parisians don’t take the metro. They take the bus. Also, they don’t go out of their arrondissement unless they’re just going to the next one over. And they think the suburbs are the end of the earth. I have a friend who was born in the 17th, went to school in the 17th, went to uni in the 16th (there isn’t one in the 17th), bought a flat in the 17th and set up her business in the 17th. She moved recently – to another street in the 17th. One day, I talked her into coming to the 1st for lunch and she was surprised she survived the journey!  Now she comes more often …

Ile-de-la-Cité with Notre Dame: am I looking upstream or downstream?

You are only Parisian, of course, if you live inside the ring road that contains all the arrondissements, which, as you may have noticed, are arranged in a clockwise spiral, starting with 1 at Palais Royal and ending with 20 over near Père Lachaise cemetery. What you may not know is that the street numbers always start at the Seine. Take rue du Louvre, for instance, which runs perpendicular to the Seine. N° 1 is next to the river and the numbers climb as you move north. Now what happens, you may ask, if the street is parallel to the Seine? Ah, ha! It’s in the direction of the current no less.  If I stand on the Pont des Arts, Notre Dame is upstream and the Eiffel Tower is downstream. On Quai de la Mégisserie (you know, the street on the Right Bank where all the pet shops and plant shops are), the higher numbers are at Pont Neuf and the lower numbers at Châtelet. I won’t even pretend that I remember that. I have to get Relationnel to explain it to me all over again each time.

There’s a logic behind the bus numbers too would you believe. In most cases, if they start with 2, they go to Gare Saint Lazare, if they start with 3, they go to Gare de l’Est and if they start with 4 they go to Gare du Nord. Most of the 6’s go to Gare de Lyon, the 7’s go to Hôtel de Ville and the 9’s go to Gare Montparnasse. Guess why I prefer to use my RATP iPhone app? Now that I have it, I can be a real Parisian too. In the metro, everyone ignores everyone else, whereas in the bus, you’re allowed to make comments to your neighbours, particularly when it’s not rush hour, without being considered a freak. It’s even encouraged.

The 27 bus outside the Louvre

The articulated buses are fun and can obviously contain more people. We take one from Palais Royal (27) that goes past the Glass Pyramid at the Louvre (great view with the Louvre on one side and the Tuileries Gardens and Arc of Triumph on the other) and across Pont Neuf into the Latin Quarter. I can take the 72 in front of the Louvre and go down to Place de la Concorde, then right along the river to the Eiffel Tower, for example. Sometimes, though, when there’s not much traffic, the drivers go tearing along at the most incredible pace and everyone holds on for dear life. It’s a wonder they don’t hit someone.

Leonardo, who’s now been in Sydney for 3 weeks, is NOT impressed with the public transport there. Apart from its chronic unreliability, he says that the bus seats are too close together and that he can’t actually fit his legs in front of him. He’s fairly tall – 1 m 86 – but so are a lot of other Australians! I asked our Aussie exchange student about it (he’s tall too) and he said it’s because there is a lot more standing room in Parisian buses and not so many seats so they can give you more room for your legs!

The biggest advantage of buses compared with the metro of course is that you get to see where you’re going and I think I could safely say that Paris has one of the highest numbers of monuments per square kilometers in the world. The downside is that despite the many bus lanes you’re never sure you’ll be on time because of the traffic, not to mention an (occasional) demonstration that sends the bus on an unexpected route!

French customs

Battling with French Administration

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I just hot-footed it over to the tax office to file a new declaration because my accounting software made a mistake with my depreciation expenses (well, I might have had something to do with it). The tax office closes at 4 of course. I arrived with 3 minutes to spare only to discover it’s moved. Now why haven’t I been told about this? I file VAT (GST) every month, over the internet admittedly, but I reckon I should have been told anyway. 

French administration is very annoying and complicated. They also write letters and instructions in incomprehensible French. None of this plain language for them. I couldn’t believe it when I filled in my last Australian passport form. It’s obviously written for dummies. I approve of that. At least you know what to do. A few years ago, when my office was in Nogent sur Marne, I had an Algerian neighbour. I was always helping her to fill in forms and write letters. She spread the word and I was soon helping another Algerian and a family from Mali.

After participating in a lobby to have the Australian constitution changed so that Australians living oversees could have dual citizenship, I applied for French nationality a few years ago. I went along to the Court to get all the forms and sent in my application. One of the things you always need in France is a birth certificate (well, an extract) less than 3 months old. This is because your life history is written on your birth certificate here  – naturalisation, change of name, marriage, divorce, legal decisions relating to legal incompetence and death. So I explained in my covering letter that Australian birth certificates don’t give that sort of information (I didn’t want to have to get another certificate plus have it translated officially at great expense).  Relationnel was convinced that they’d ask for more papers (they always do).

However, all went well and after a few months, I was contacted by a police officer who came to visit me at my office to make sure that I was really living in the country and spoke French. Another few months went by and I had to go to the local police station with my diplomas. The man who interviewed me had no idea what he was doing. He admitted he’d never done it before! I also had to prove I was well integrated into the community. Then exactly one year from the date of application, on 2nd December 2002, I was declared to have French nationality. On 29th March 2004, I received a FRENCH BIRTH CERTIFICATE . Isn’t that too much ?

Now I have two passports – French and Australian!

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