The grouchy expat

Tonight I was waiting for a taxi with some other people when a tall, well-dressed man about sixty came up. We waited for about five minutes, and then he said, "Would anyone like to share a cab?"  We wouldn't have minded, but no one was going in his direction. After exchanging a few sentences, I realized from his slight accent and button-down collar that in spite of his very European look and excellent French, he was American. The next taxi didn't come for a long time, so we griped about the mayor together. We agreed that Paris was the worst major city we knew of for finding a cab-- there are never any taxis when you need them, like in the rain, on weekends, after ten o'clock at night, and especially after the metro closes. There are fewer Paris taxis now than in 1920. Merci, Monsieur Delanoë!

The man said he had lived for thirty years in Paris, although he doesn't any more. By accident, we came to the same subject that I wrote about a couple of days ago, the requirement to say hello in France before any other communication. He was funny and had the truculent attitude some long-time expats develop. He said that when he gets in a taxi, he just gives the address where he's going: "16 rue Chaillot," for example.

"But some drivers will then turn around and say in exaggerated fashion, 'BonJOUR!' --I call them 'les Bonjouristes.' After waiting for twenty minutes for a taxi, I'm in no mood for that. I say, 'Vous allez me donner des leçons de politesse?' [Are you going to give me lessons in politeness?]. It usually degenerates from there."

If I had to guess, I would say he had a French wife he's now divorced from. Cela explique tout!

A taxi finally came and we said goodbye. This photo was taken about 8:30 tonight, just at sunset, looking towards Invalides from the taxi window. Isn't this a beautiful city? The driver was a West African whose phone played Haydn when it rang.

We had to wait at the bar at the restaurant for a short time. Instead of taking our names to call them out later in public (I always hate that), this resto had found a more elegant solution. Each party was handed a card with the name of a musician on it. Ours was Liszt, which the girl pronounced "Litts," but I also heard Gershwin, Bach, and Mozart. We had a drink at the bar and then heard "Litts! Votre table est prête."

 

Comments

[marco]

la coupole isn't it? i miss the hot chocolate from there.

From Sedulia:

Oui, la Coupole, j'adore pour le people-watching. Je n'ai jamais essaye le chocolat!

[L'Amerloque]

Hi !

/*/We had to wait at the bar at the restaurant for a short time. Instead of taking our names to call them out later in public (I always hate that), this resto had found a more elegant solution./*/

It's hardly a question of elegance alone, but rather a question of discretion and a raging desire to keep its customers.

It wouldn't do for Mr Dupont-Durand (in the company of his mistress) to be loudly paged when a) he told Mme Dupont-Durand he was going to the squash club or b) Mme Dupont-Durand was dining in the restaurant that evening, too.

Amerloque is reminded of a friend who with his mistress, a decade or so ago, frequented a certain Chinese restaurant near Miromesnil two or three times a week. This went on for some months; the quiet venue was far more important than the cuisine. (smile)

At the end of the year, the Chinese restaurant sent a card to his credit card address of record, i.e., home, thanking him for his excellent patronage over the past year.

The wife intercepted the card, made her own inquiries, and filed for divorce.

Within six months of having sent the card, the Chinese restaurant had a discreet "Under New Managemen" card in the window. The Chinese restaurant is gone, now …

Best,
L'Amerloque

From Sedulia:

I also remember going to a quiet, small, very out-of-the-way resto in Venice with Venetian friends, only to encounter an American acquaintance from our business trip there with his mistress, whom he'd secretly brought along on his expense account. He looked very uncomfortable indeed when we walked in.

[Melissa Petri]

Ironically, taxis are scarce when it's raining, you are in a hurry to go somewhere and/or when there are no other transportation choices availble to you.

I was once (with 2 other colleagues) stuck at 2am on a friday at Champs Elysees. Of course, the metro was already closed and all the buses (which could have taken us near our hotel) were full that people looked like they were plastered to the door. In the end, we had to walk.

Interesting tip about avoiding taxi conversations.

From Sedulia: Well, your 2 a.m. experience is not an anomaly. It happens every Friday and Saturday night to anyone who wants a taxi in Paris. (Merci, Monsieur Delanoë!)

[Melissa]

haha true. when we told the concierge the next day (while checking out), he told us the same. hehe