Making Friends

There are lots of articles written in magazines with titles such as "Living France", "Moving To France" and "French Entree" encouraging new arrivals to get out there and mix with the locals.  Evidently, it's important to make friends, learn the customs, mingle, integrate.  To this end there are plenty of tips given such as 'why not drop into the Mairie with a bottle of whisky and a hello for the Maire' (I think in many countries this might be filed under 'corruption' but whatever); 'remember to greet passers-by in the street with a cheery 'Mesdames, Messieurs'; 'pop a petit annonce up in your local Spar / Bar seeking people to skill swap / chat with'; 'make sure to introduce yourself to your neighbours and invite them for an apero' etc. etc. 

Jolly good. So how have we progressed with these convivial suggestions?  Upon first arriving in Marseillan and forearmed with such advice, we did a quick recce of our neighbours.  Alex was concerned.  

More than likely we had (1) Russian pimps opposite (swarthy man seen with two mobile phones and two blondes counting money at his kitchen table = dodgy), (2) Irish terrorists on the run next to them (well connected man with Irish accent = no further justification needed), (3) a Belgian tax evader next door (quiet chap with beard and house keeper = highly suspicious) and (4) a certifiable nutter on the corner (lanky bloke fond of wearing a trilby, playing show tunes at top volume and polishing his garage door with a kleenex at midnight = say no more).  How were we going to make friends with this FBI fodder??  

We decided bypass our neighbours and head straight for the Mairie.  Encountering the Receptionist was an experience similar to fronting Siberian Border Control - a woman surely better employed by the defense forces as Interrogator or possibly Attila the Hun as Operations Manager - we did eventually manage to prevail upon her to post our petit annonce seeking nice people to chat with.  This yielded Didier, a very amenable bloke who manages a garden centre and whose wife has a shoe shop. We've been meeting for some weeks now, but Alex is still convinced he is a bull fighting fan, possibly even a secret matador (poster of corrida in living room = more than likely).

Previously, our Clermont petit annonce put us in contact with a talented stand-up comedian who has made several TV appearances on On n' Demande qu'a en Rire and has turned out to be a good friend, albeit almost certainly involved in international art fraud (tubes of acrylic paint seen in his living room plus roll of bubble wrap in garage = QED). Check out his one man show -

http://www.dailymotion.com/fr/relevance/search/yass/1#video=xt2g3c

Joining the gym has proved interesting and yielded much 'contact' with the locals, if not exactly friends. Charmingly, each new arrival to the work-out room greets EVERY SINGLE other person in the gym with a 'bonjour' and three kisses to the cheeks.  Yes, right in the middle of a set up comes Jean-Claude and the kissing commences.  By the time he's got through the kissing, his lips have had a good work out and his gym session is half way over.  Still, it makes one feel wanted.

Music has proved to be the most fruitful way of networking and having real fun, and we have Alex to thank for that.  

His piano playing for a couple of local bands has made for some memorable nights and jolly parties; last week, courtesy of singer Kerry, we spent a fabulous weekend at Chateau Les Carrasses celebrating St. Patrick's Day in true French style - wine tasting.  Unaware of local traditions, we turned up in head-to-toe green wearing our sparkly hats, tinsel wigs and flashing sunnies expecting a knees-up to "C'mon Eileen'. I guess you live and learn.

What of the neighbours?  Well, whilst the French are very keen on politesse it doesn't prevent them from being cold and rude if it suits. And it does suit a couple of our neighbours - their loss, we have decided.  As for the Belgian tax exile he is simply a kindly retired Belgian with a penchant for cleanliness; turns out the Irish terrorist is a friendly, helpful, well informed business man with loads of local insight; the Russian pimp is actually a talented musician who plays Django Reinhardt type jazz and has back-up singers.  The trilby wearing, tissue wielding nocturnal nutter is just a nutter.  Every village has one.  

Word on the street, though, is that a couple of Australians are moving in opposite.  Will the Mairie succumb to a case of VB?  Will 'Mesdames, Messieurs' be replaced by 'G'day Mate'?  Will the truculent Ghislaine be tempted to drop in for a cold one and a barbie?  Worst of all, will our proud claim to be Australians (very impressive to all French) rather than ten-a-penny Brits be brought under scrutiny??  Sleepless nights ahead at 5 Rue Auber....












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Lazy French?

There has been ever such a big kerfuffle in the news lately over the 'lazy, overpaid' French workers who "talk too much".   According to American tyre tycoon Maurice Taylor, France has "beautiful women and fantastic wine, but no idea how to run a business", and thus saying he turned down the French government's request to bail out the ailing Goodyear tyre factory in Amiens. 

Apparently the "so-called workers" at the factory spent the majority of their day lunching (!!!), talking and taking breaks.  The French Minister for Industry claimed Mr. Taylor does not understand "the French way". 

Hmmmmmm.

We've been here nearly a year now, and I have to say we are having Mr. Taylor type struggles with "the French way".  No.1 culprit - LUNCH.

Apparently, one gets accustomed to Lunch and actually starts to get into the swing of it.  

I think it might be too late.  

Having spent almost my entire working life accepting lunch as dunking a cracker into a tin of tuna whilst sitting at my desk  (okay, there were some notable exceptions during the rock 'n' roll years), the swing hasn't kicked in yet.  

It drives me / us crazy.  Everything closes for Lunch.  Work starts at let's say nine-ish, goes on for maybe three hours, then it's time to close up shop entirely - bring in the stands outside the shop, roll down the shutters, lock the doors to the bank and the post office, switch off the lights, turn on the answerphone and ignore the world for possibly FOUR AND A HALF HOURS while you Lunch i.e. eat three or four courses, have some wine, a digestif, a coffee followed up by a nap. Yup. Return to work let's say around four-ish, maybe five, and close up again at seven. 

What's the point? Why even bother working?  Obviously the most important part of the day is Lunch because its clearly advertised on the horaires d'overtures.  And, by the way, all opening hours are different, rarely are the advertised hours adhered to and there is usually a weekday of closure thrown into the bargain, often Mondays to tag onto Sunday when absolutely EVERYTHING is closed - all supermarkets, shops, DIY outlets, garden centres, even petrol stations. Oh, and  did I forget to mention that the supermarkets, DIY centres etc. also close for Lunch? Yes, true. Imagine Coles or Waitrose closing for two hours everyday so the staff can down a three-courser!?!!  Need some paint or liquid nails? Sorry mate, Bunnings is closed, Lunch Time you know. 

Eventually this becomes charming, or so we are told.  Right now the feeling of panic as the clock ticks towards noon and the cold realisation that nothing more can be realistically achieved this day is anything but charming. Perhaps, though, everyone is working super hard during the three hour morning?  

Not here at the Mairie they aren't.  We are clearly disturbing their personal phone calls and ipad photo sessions when we turn up with the idea they might be able to make an appointment for us to talk to someone about starting a business.  The Police close for Lunch as well.  Maybe there's no crime during Lunch - it's entirely possible.

On the positive side, the locals have been very encouraging when we have mentioned our business idea.  They think it could be a bit of a goer and best of all - as it's rather seasonal - it would mean we would only have to work half the year and have the rest of the time off!  How very French.  Actually, now you mention it that sounds quite appealing. Maybe we're getting into the swing of things after all.........