The French have developed the reputation in America of being rude and unfriendly. Well, let me tell you I've been treated worse in an American post office than I've ever been treated in France.
It's true the English word 'friendly' doesn't translate well into French. In fact the French aren't particularly 'friendly', at least in the American sense of the word. They don't automatically smile at strangers in the street, they aren't prone to start up conversations in the elevator, they don't automatically exchange names when they meet a new person, and if you're with a French person when s/he meets an acquaintance, they may ignore you while they talk.
Here are a few personal experiences that shed some light on what sort of people the French are.
Last week I was out chasing churches on my bicycle. (For those who don't know, I'm trying to photograph all the churches in the Gironde to put on a Web site I'm developing.) Near the town of Créon is the village of le Pouts with a lovely Roman church dating back to the 11th century. In front of the church is an open field with a well whose opening is partially covered by a metal grill. Standing beside the well, I took several photos of the church and set down the camera on the rim of the well. When I reached for the camera, I knocked it into the well! Being a compact digital camera, it slipped between the well wall and the grill and fell about four meters (13ft) to the bottom of the well. Made me sick when I heard the click of the camera hitting the bottom. In the hope of getting some help, I walked over to the mairie (town hall), but found it closed. Heard voices over a hedge about 30 meters (100ft) away and walked around the hedge to find a French couple. I explained my problem and he said 'pas de souci' (no problem). He walked over to the well, took a quick look, repeated 'pas de souci', disappeared into his house for a few moments, and came back, buckling on a belt with hooks and lines attached to it. He went down the well, retrieved the camera, and was back faster than I could say, 'How stupid is it to set a camera on the edge of an open well!' Turns out Michel is a retired fireman who belonged to a team that specializes in underground and overhead rescues. To top if off, although it got a little wet--not immersed, thank goodness--, the camera still takes great pictures. The point of the story: how helpful the French can be. Note that Michel remained a Frenchman. We never did introduce ourselves as Americans would in similar circumstances.
I got Michel's name from the mayor, so I could thank him properly for his generous help. When the mayor heard I was there to photograph her church, she got up from her work on the village budget and took me on a quick tour of the church, so I could get some photos of the interior. And she offered to give me the deluxe tour when she had the time. Some of the decorations and floor tiles in the church date back its construction.
One Sunday a year ago Danièle and I decided to go biking together, so we rigged the bike carrier on the car and loaded the bikes. This involves removing a small case that attaches to the frame of Danièle's bike. I set the case on top of the car while we finished loading the car. Then off we went. Of course I'd forgotten to put the case in the car. When we got back from the outing, I walked through the neighborhood along the route we'd taken on our way out that morning and found the case, sitting on a fence. Someone had found it lying in the street and set it on the fence. Typical French move.
Final story: Shortly after Michel rescued my camera, I was out riding again, this time to the village of Croignon near le Pouts, where there is another Roman church. It was closed, so I walked over to the wall surrounding the churchyard. On the other side was a workman, tending a fire of burning brush, and I asked if he knew who had the key to the church. We got to talking and before we had finished, Arnaud had 1) arranged a place for me to eat my lunch waiting for the mayor's secretary to return, 2) gotten the key to the church from the secretary, 3) taken me on a tour of the church, 4) told me about the crypt in the church at Baron five kms away, 5) told me where to find the key to the crypt (at the mairie in Baron), and 5) arranged for me to meet him in Baron the next Monday, so he could get the key if the mairie wouldn't give it to me. I then rode over to Baron and they gave me, a complete stranger, the key to the crypt that holds a statue of the Virgin filling in for a statue of Our Lady of Fear that's been stolen twice.
Don''t misunderstand. It's true that just like in America 'il y a des cons partout!' (there are as****es everywhere! [Expletive deleted to avoid problems with nanny filters]). I've had a digital camera snatched from me in a suburb of Paris. And the French don't smile automatically if they catch your eye on the street, as Americans do. And Parisians cut in line without apology or remorse. And the French value wit and cleverness more than content, which can look like sarcasm. OK, it's a different country with a different culture and different ways of relating to people--it's not America. But the French are lovely people, naturally helpful and ready to smile when there's a reason.
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