The Strike

There are many stereotypes of the French, one of which is that they are constantly going on strike. For this reason, I was quite excited to witness the national strike day scheduled for October 4. I had expected traffic, transportation and services of all kinds to come to a screeching halt. It wasn't just because of France's infamy that I thought this, it was also because of the local anticipation and preparation for this upcoming strike. Sylvia had warned us about it weeks earlier and advised us to wear sneakers that day instead of relying on public transportation. Our housekeeper Andrea had switched her cleaning day from Tuesday to Monday so she would avoid travelling during the strike. And L'Alliance Francaise had signs posted that classes may or may not occur that day, presumably depending equally on transportation issues and the political persuasation of the teacher.

Geoff and I had taken to watching the news at 8 pm each night to practice hearing French. Our comprehension wasn't too good; it was lucky they had pictures. The night before, I watched in anticipation of the strike to see what would be said (or shown). They posted some statistics of the RER and metro lines with percentages (20-30%), but it wasn't clear to me whether that was the number they expected would be running or striking.
The day of the strike, we walked to school aiming to avoid the metro. After class, we had plans to meet Geoff's colleagues Noel, Patrice and Dolf for dinner. We picked up a box of chocolates for Noel since we were meeting at his apartment. Geoff had mapped out a route to walk there, but it turned out to be farther than we expected. Plus, Geoff had pulled something in his foot and after a 20 minute walk, he was slowing down. So when we found a metro station, and figured it was worth a shot. Our tickets were accepted and we hopped on a train easily. In fact, it was just as quick but much less crowded than usual.

Noel had told us to come over between 7:30 and 8 pm and it was nearing the latter. I wasn't too concerned because we had learned that when the French say a time, they usually mean later. Geoff fit in perfectly with this concept of time. At a bit after 8 pm, we finally arrived at Noel's apartment. Geoff typed in the code for the outside door to unlock it and we climbed the stairs up to his apartment and rung the bell. A woman answered the door. She squinted unfamiliarly at us a bit, clearly surprised to see us. For a moment I wondered if we were in the wrong apartment. But she was motioning us in, so maybe not. Geoff rattled off something - and the name Noel definitely rang a bell with her. Turned out, it was Noel's wife but she had expected us to arrive with him or at least after him. We had as well. Of course, he was running late, which I figured could be blamed either on the strike or the fact that he operated on typical French time. I had a feeling it was the latter.

Within minutes, we had a variety of savory snacks set before us and Geoff was uncorking a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. Noel's wife, Francoise, an unprententious friendly woman in her 40s, sat down and talked with us. Her English was about as good as my French so for a bit we switched to French. Geoff seemed impressed that I was able to carry on an effective conversation. I had decided it was my favorite thing to talk to French people who couldn't speak English well. I was less embarrassed about all the mistakes I was surely making.

We also spoke with Noel's older daughter who spoke English perfectly well and corrected her mother on proper verb tenses and once on the term 'fast food'. Within about a half hour, Noel and the others arrived, at which point English pervaded the room. Dolf who was Dutch spoke English perfectly, in addition to a smattering of other languages, but not French. We got a tour of Noel's apartment which was the result of the merging of three apartments which he had bought over time. It was a typical Paris apartment with soaring windows, wood floors and French furnishings and fabrics. In New York, they call these apartments "pre-war." Perhaps they say the same here, although they would be referring to the French Revolutionary War in the late 17oos. After the tour we polished off the second bottle of champagne, and headed out for dinner. Noel invited his wife, but she declined, preferring to stay home with her daughters. So the rest of us piled into Noel's car which amusingly was an enormous four wheel drive American car. A few minutes later, he pulled into a spot across the street from the restaurant. Geoff pointed out that the sign seemed to be indicating that it was a handicapped space. No, Noel corrected, it was just the crosswalk. He didn't seem concerned about the possibility of getting a ticket or being towed.

Only a handful of tables at the neighborhood bistro held diners, which amused Noel who had called for a reservation to ensure us a place. At this point, it neared 10 pm and the end of French national dinnertime. Noel and Patrice teased Geoff and I about needing English menus, which we refused. To prove the point, Geoff entertained everyone by translating everything on the menu (he's quite good with food words), and in fact even explained some of the dishes' cooking methods in ways that even the French natives couldn't articlulate. Patrice ordered a steak medium and the waitress turned to Geoff. Everyone seemed poised to hear Geoff's order in French. Would the words come out as well as his translations? "Le meme chose" was all he said, meaning "the same thing" which cracked everyone up, even the waitress. Geoff smiled, but defended his choice, saying that was really what he wanted. We drank some wine and talked until our dishes arrived on wooden boards featuring a perfectly balanced meal of meat, potatoes and salad. I ordered lamb chops and the meal was quite tasty especially considering it only cost 16 euros.

During dinner, I took the opportunity to clear up a few phrases that had baffled me over the past few weeks. The first one that perplexed me was the difference between "J'ai compris" (I understood) and "Je comprend" (I understand). In English, these were relatively interchangeable. Fortunately, I learned the same was true in French. Ok, what about "J'ai fini" and "Je suis fini" - I've finished vs. I'm finished? I used these interchangeably at the end of meals, as I would in English. But I wasn't sure it was right. In this case, Patrice informed me, there was quite a big difference. "J'ai fini" meant that you had finished your meal whereas ""Je suis fini" meant that you were done for. So basically I had inadvertently been saying to waiters all over Paris that their meals had nearly killed me.

I also wanted to learn the proper way to say "nice to meet you." It seemed I constantly met new people, and when it came time to leave I was somewhat tongue-tied. I had looked up some expressions, but they all seemed so formal to me. I wanted to know what a local would actually say. But they told me the French don't usually end a conversation by commenting that it was nice to meet someone. They just say au revoir and move on. In fact, Patrice informed me that if I were to make a point of saying in French to a man that it was very nice to meet him, he would take it as a come on. Well, that seems like something I should have already learned after 6 years of studying French, no?

After dinner, Noel offered to drive us home which we said wasn't necessary, but he insisted it was on the way. Without delay, we breezed home and I wondered about the strike and felt the French can do better than this, no?