To Bise or Not to Bise?

An article in my local newspaper informs us that the mayoress of a village in the Isère département recently sent an email to all her staff informing them that she wished to put a stop to that traditional French practice of greeting one another with a cheek-kiss (‘la bise’) each morning on arriving at work. The reasons given?  Firstly the obvious one that it exposes you to the risk of receiving a good dose of somebody else’s germs; but more surprisingly because it reflects male-female inequality. It’s certainly true that ‘faire la bise’ is more a female thing as a man is more likely to shake another male’s hand when he arrives at work – even though things do tend to be changing. For while in the past cheek-kissing between males was confined to close members of the same family (i.e. father and son or brothers) it is now being more and more resorted to by men who are simply colleagues or friends. Though many people found our lady mayor’s decision trifling, even stupid, it does have the merit of opening a discussion on a practice which in France is systematically used as a greeting both outside and inside the place of work.

     One reason our mayoress doesn’t seem to have mentioned is the fact that, depending on the number of employees and the number of kisses (usually limited to one on each chop but for cultural, regional or social reasons this can range from one to five) cheek-kissing your work colleagues can take up a significant amount of working time. On arriving at work each morning one of my copains has confessed to spending the first ten minutes going round office and workshop cheek-kissing all the women. But though important to many it can be a tiresome, even unpleasant obligation for some. Is this all that surprising with an act which forces you into such close proximity with others that you can smell their make-up, after-shave and sometimes even their breath? What’s more, wearers of spectacles or sunglasses should be especially careful as their frames have been known to inflict a nasty poke in the eye. And isn’t it a show of familiarity which in many cases doesn’t really exist ? After all a wave of the hand, a smile or a warm handshake could be nearer the mark.

     Mind you, the word ‘kiss’ is often a misnomer: for rather than planting your lips on the cheek of the other, the technique usually consists in briefly rubbing your chops together, and at the same time making a kissing movement with your lips. The result is that most of the lip contact is with the surrounding air. However, I do have another copain who believes in firmly planting his lips on the cheeks of women he feels real affection for. The problem is that in France cheek-kissing is such a longstanding tradition that it’s almost become a ritual.  And in the more trendy circles it’s even strongly advised not only to cheek-kiss colleagues but to systematically use the familiar ‘tu’ as well as the first name of the person you greet. And this includes the boss. Mind you, it hasn’t always been so. In the past the upper crust considered it to be not at all chic, very provincial, and only for the plebs.  Nowadays, however, psychologists will tell you that faire la bise is a way of informing others that you recognize him or her both as an individual and a member of your same group.  So, on the whole, refusing to cheek-kiss your workmates would stand a very good chance of being seen as an act of unfriendliness and/or a wish to set yourself apart.

     As to the question of male-female inequality it’s true that cheek-kissing tends to belong more to the female domain; and we can always argue that what is female has more negative connotations than what is male. But can we really say that the act in itself is a reflection of inequality? When men don’t cheek-kiss other men or are reluctant to cheek-kiss a woman doesn’t this rather echo a need to delimit what is male from the female ? Isn’t this a distinction which in the non-Muslim world at least is becoming more and more blurred ?

Barry Whittingham is the author of Barfield School, the first novel in his CALL OF FRANCE trilogy: www.calloffrance.com

The French Tourist Abroad

When the annual summer holidays cause France to close down for a month, the holiday reservation site Travelzoo carried out a survey on how their European subscribers viewed French tourists. The 2,398 people who took part were almost unanimous in their condemnation of the behaviour of French tourists who seem well on their way to being considered the worst in Europe. Criticisms only go to endorse the clichés we frequently hear applied to the French.

     So, what exactly is it they find so hard to stomach? For one thing all seemed to agree that French tourists are extremely hard to please, and never stop belly-aching. The French have a high expectation level with regard to their holidays, so everything must be just right - to the most minute detail. Apparently, one of the favourite occupations of French tourists who've just taken possession of their hotel room is to go round looking for the slightest speck of dust. They'll even look behind that picture frame above the bed!  And if their room doesn't have a magnificent sea view they won't hesitate to bounce down to reception and demand that it be changed immediately. What's more, the present economic crisis has made things even worse. The British tourist, on the other hand, will only complain in the most extreme cases, and as long as there's plenty of sun and cheap booze available, is perfectly happy. 

     The French are also considered to be an arrogant lot - mainly because they make absolutely no effort to speak a foreign language when abroad. The Gallics are proud of their country, its culture and language, and are inclined to consider themselves slightly superior to others. Not only do they act as if they were still in France, but they expect to be able to find what they're in the habit of eating at home. Mind you, to be perfectly fair, we don't think this is a particularly French trait. At the age of 14 the English boy I then was went on a school trip to the South of France. For him it was a paradise on earth, and the food, though certainly different, was an absolute delight. But many of his fellow pupils didn't seem to agree: their main gripes were that it didn’t measure up to Scarborough and that there were no fish and chip shops around!

     And the French expect to have both quality food and cooking at the lowest possible price together with the high level of service that goes with it. The British tourist on the other hand, as long as he gets a cooked breakfast, is quite happy with a ham sandwich or a mediocre buffet-type meal. But though the French consider holidays to be extremely important, and will only deprive themselves when they have no other choice, they don't want their holidays to cost them the earth. This explains the growing popularity in France of the all-inclusive type of vacation where you know down to the last euro exactly how much it's all going to set you back and where you're certain that, if you don't want to, you needn’t fork out a cent more.

     But what contributes most to this 'stingy' image is when it comes to leaving a tip. French tourists will only tip when they're fully satisfied with the service (which is extremely rare), and even then (as, to be quite honest, we've personally often been in a position to note), this is far from being a general rule. One of the main justifications for this is that they’ve never received a tip during their working life, so why give one to others ? On the contrary, Anglo-Saxons are culturally more inclined to leave a tip - even when the quality of the service leaves a lot to be desired.

     It's also understandable that in this country of haute couture and designer fashion clothes the holidaying French tend to pay more attention to what they wear.  And even though they tend to dress more casually than before, there are still certain standards which they rarely abandon. The British and Germans, on the other hand, will stroll nonchalantly round holiday resort shops clad in nothing more elaborate than flip-flops and shorts. 

     Not only do the French want their holidays to bring relaxation and enjoyment, but they also like to come away with the impression that they've added something to their personal culture and knowledge. The guided-tour type of holiday, where you visit different places of cultural or historical interest each day is, therefore, far more popular than with holidaymakers from other countries. So frequently can this be observed that in Seville it’s a  standing joke that at 4 o'clock on a sweltering summer afternoon only dogs and French tourists are to be seen in the streets. The English and Germans on the other hand are more inclined to spend their days soaking up the sun on a lounger round the swimming pool, or just lazing on the beach with the occasional dip in the sea.

Barry Whittingham is the author of Barfield School, the first novel in his CALL OF FRANCE trilogy.  www.calloffrance.com

Never Trust Appearances

My English readers may be surprised to learn that a recent report suggests that one in ten French motorists is not in possession of a driving licence. As my English alter so often reminds me, what matters for the French driver is that he knows he can drive, and that whether he can drive or not is nobody’s business but his own. Moreover, driving in France at night soon brings to light of day the fact that a surprising number of vehicles have defective headlights (i.e. badly adjusted, or in need of bulb replacement). It must again be understood that what is important for the Frenchman is that he can see where he’s going, and that where he’s going is nobody’s business but his own. Similar conclusions can also be drawn with regard to traffic indicators. Now in England all cars are fitted with direction indicators, the purpose of which is, of course, to inform other motorists of their drivers’ intention to deviate from a straight line. In France cars also have indicators. These are almost totally superfluous to needs. For what is important to the French driver is that he knows where he’s going, and where he’s going is nobody’s business but his own.

     It would, nevertheless, be wrong to assume that the Gallic never uses his traffic indicators. But what is more normal in a land where everybody does the opposite to what is expected that, though he rarely signals his intention to turn right or left, he sometimes does so when he means to go straight on? An indication of this was provided the other morning when I left home, drove down the side street where I live, stopped at the halt sign at the end, and patiently waited for a gap to appear in the traffic. Finally, everything was clear on the right. On looking to the left, my Englishman (it was he who was driving) observed a small van approaching some 50 yards away with right indicator winking. Now, he might have been forgiven for thinking that, when a vehicle is approaching with right winker on, it’s safe to assume its driver is signalling his intention to turn right. So out he pulled. The screech of brakes and prolonged honking of horn which followed proved my Anglo had made a horribly mistake. Though the van driver managed to stop just in time to avoid a collision his fury was great, and was accompanied by the usual screwing action of forefinger applied to temple. My Englishman could only surmise that, shortly before, circumstances had obliged the driver (perhaps there had been a police car behind him) to signal his intention to change directions. But so unaccustomed was he to using his indicator that he was simply unaware it hadn’t automatically cancelled itself. Proof that my experience was not uncommon is provided by the fact that the great majority of French motorists wait until a vehicle actually begins turning before pulling out in front. 

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