Le football pathétique et la Fête Nationale

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Did you know that in France they don't actually call it 'Bastille Day'. It's referred to as 'la Fête Nationale' and it consumes an entire weekend which can basically be summed up with two words exploding with heat and action: fireworks and firemen. To cover my bases, there are many things to love about Paris. And I do. I love many things about Paris. From the Eiffel Tower (as cliche as that is, looking at it, at any time of the day, just makes you want to have sex with that boulanger, patisser, or the bum with the "j'ai faim" sign on the street) to the Seine and any of its Ponts (for its effect, see: Eiffel Tower), to all the buildings looming over you with such incomprehensible gravities of importance. Everything, from the jardins to the bookstores, the cafes to the sculptures, the streets to the lights, everything in this city is beau/belle/charmant. It's like you've opened the pages of take your pick which novel, and literally jumped right in. French people are well-dressed, a la mode. French people know food and the freshest produce. French people know wine and relaxing, they know how to party and how to dine. They are some of the most cultured, in music, literature, architecture, and art, and their language itself is a giant sex weapon. The French know Romance with a capital R. The youth are hip and groovy in the city that gave birth to the latest rage "techtonics." The French have a lot to be proud of. But there is a fine line between being justifiably proud and pathetically grasping for glory. Well, maybe just in France.

Somewhere from Jordan I last shamefully articulated all the ways in which I have failed to maintain my precious Americanisms. I touched on dental hygiene standards (I failed to travel with mini dental floss), being hip to the latest and greatest in pop culture (Iron Man, what's that?), maybe even current slang (I still thought 'awesome' was the default American phrase). One Americanism of utmost importance that I failed to include was that of Always Being Politically Correct (better known in the US as "being PC.") For those of you foreign to this idea, or just Foreign in general, let's quickly run through the logic behind this. Caveat: If you offend easily, stay out of this one. These are obviously generalizations and stereotypes - but let's be honest, stereotypes do have roots somewhere. If you can't handle the blunt and sarcastic, can't take a joke (probably 60% of my dialogue anyways) ... well I don't think you would have found my blog interesting enough to be reading right now, so read on...

Americans love to be "politically correct" in recorded conversations, in written accounts, during elections, at dinner parties, in meeting people overseas, in bed, on the shitter... all the time. 'Politically Correct' in America means to basically call everything by its very neutral, unassuming, inoffensive name, or communicating only neutral, unassuming, inoffensive ideas. Never tipping too far in either direction, never wanting to insult one side or another. One explanation for this is that as Americans we feel the need to have everybody LIKE us. Offending people = Bad, Shallow acquaintances who have nothing against us = Good. Americans have to be friends with everybody in the group. We have to forge camaraderie, bonds, we like to be that LINK that holds everybody together. We are huge attention-whores, and we love to lead. Who knows where we get this mentality from. Maybe we have a culture of needing democratic support in everything we do, maybe it's the whole UNITED WE STAND crap. Another explanation for this is that as Americans we have grown up with the looming threat of getting Fcked! by a ginormous lawsuit around every corner. Accidentally call a woman by the word, "woman?" -Fcked! Accidentally let your client eat some bad cheese? -Fcked! Accidentally look too long at your secretary's pants pocket? -Fcked! Accidentally not tell somebody that coffee can burn skin if spilt? -Fcked! Accidentally call an African-American 'black' during a review? -Fcked! Accidentally let obese people frequent your restaurant? -Fcked! So yeah, maybe we are this polite and non-offensive for a reason. Often times Americans are so proud and PC that we can't even take a joke at face value, which is a real shame.

Said 'PC'-ness does a 180 the instant you leave the Homeland. Rest-of-the-World does not give a shit about being PC. In my particular experience, working in Hong Kong was a big Politically INcorrect slap in the face. Who knows if it was working in Hong Kong, or working for a Swiss bank, whatever - the culture was inherently different to anything my friends were experiencing back at the JPMorgans, Goldmans, Citigroups in the Big Apple. Bosses and colleagues in Asia were verbally expelling expletives in diarrheal fashion, sexist and racist jokes flew like confetti around the office. Slackers would have whichever non-wealthy, non-Atheist, non-Aryan accented trait capitalized on and ground into the next explosion of laughter at the bar, or the printer. I could sexually harass and be sexually harassed without any recourse. I mean it was anything-goes, game-on, suckers-lose. I heard my bosses' womanizing tales of youth. I was told American girls were easy. I called my French superior a Frog. I told a colleague of mine I was going to have his babies perhaps thrice a week just to see him squirm for fun. I've seen my MD so drunk that I can't even publicly disclose what I've seen. And you know what, I wasn't offended and neither was anybody else. It was all in good fun, and in my opinion it made it a more comfortable workplace. On the other hand, in America there is a 90% chance that some little piece of shit is angry about something related to the firm and will proceed to take extreme offense to something so trivially regarded in any other country. And that little piece of shit will go and sue the crap out of his bosses/employer. Because in America, he can. Oh, if I had a nickel for every time Colin (a fellow American colleague of mine) and I would look at each other, burst into laughter and exclaim, "never in the US would THAT be kosher...."

So in conclusion, yeah I have lived a few years without being neutral, without being PC or worrying which term I should technically be referring to somebody by. And I suppose politically France doesn't seem to be the most no-cares, all for political-incorrectness country we could find. I suppose the above conversation came to mind when I think of how French people don't really seem to care to make you happy or make you like them. One extreme comparison I have heard is that say you have a group of girls-- and while the American girl wants to be friends with everybody, the French girl almost is happiest when she is a bitch with the least amount of girls liking her. I know that even in this conversation that is overly general but just food for thought. The funny thing is though, while the French absolutely adore themselves and their country, they don't seem to care who likes them, but will throw hissy fits if you make fun of them. I'm sure we are all very aware of how many French jokes there are floating around. With this in mind, I want to make the connection with where I was trying to go with this when I first started typing. I'm not a particularly PC person. I suppose I never really have been, and living abroad certainly has not helped this! And now, out of respect for the country that I am so happily residing in, and out of respect for my dear French friends, I just want to be able to write freely about some of my experiences here in France. So to be somewhat PC (or just less offensive) I sort of write this entry to preface all my future France entries. I am now covered, and I know this twisted rambling will suffice for my French friends, personally. So... here goes.

Back in 1998, France defeated Brazil 3-0 in the World Cup final. What a grand victory that was, France won their first World Cup as the seventh nation ever to win it. And to win over Brazil, the 'most successful national football team in the history of the World Cup', with five championships (1958, 1962, 1970, 1994, 2002). "The English invented it, the Brazilians perfected it." That's something the French will never forget. And not only will they never forget, but they will throw parties and events around the anniversary of this one-in-a-lifetime seemingly faulty snag in history. I stumbled upon the France '98 - Selection Mondiale exhibition match on some French ticketing website. The exhibition game stars the French national team of the World Cup 98 (Zinedine Zidane, Youri Djorkaeff, Marcel Desailly, Didier Deschamps, Christophe Dugarry, Fabien Barthez...) versus select players from around the world (Fernando Hierro, Luis Figo, Edgar Davis, Samuel Eto'o, Sonny Anderson, Mickael Laudrup, Frank De Boer, Manuel Rui Costa...) It didn't seem to be a heavily advertised game and I didn't really think much about the whys, but I enlist Manav to head down to StadeFrance to casually catch some football action Saturday night. (Manav is a friend I met at the Sorbonne from Oslo, currently studying at LSE. I don't think I've actually introduced him yet.) We get there and fortunately are able to buy tickets, because surprisingly the whole thing is sold out, jam-packed with I suppose old French nationalists. Well, maybe this is a bigger deal than we thought.

What a bad game this is. It was like a big French joke that wasn't even that funny, just confusing and awkward, the kind that you don't really get but nod along to while secretly thinking everybody who laughed is an incomprehensible moron. My mind rewinds back to Syria vs. Iran in Damascus a month ago. France '98 are, well, 10 years older. They actually trail Monde for most of the game, I'm fairly positive there was no way that they are going to let France lose in the end anyways. However I'm not even so sure people came for the game itself. After the game Manav and I prepared to head out, but then the stadium lights dim and the music starts flowing. We stay put as song after song, classic French "I Will Survive" blasts through the stadium. StadeFrance turns into a club, with swirling disco lights and a huge sea of flags waving around like glow sticks. The '98 team then proceed to prance around the stadium holding the ACTUAL World Cup, perhaps trying to relive any glory that obviously was far out of reach this summer. And there you have the whole packed stadium cheering them on as if it was somehow an actual victory (which I think must have been staged anyhow.) How bizarre. Then they bring out the fireworks, but not just any fireworks, but fireworks that form a very large gâteau (cake) in the center of the field topped with "candles" that blew up into the sky. A very overly-extravagant display of fireworks follow.

We had unwittingly stumbled into a huge French Pride Party. At first our jaws drop half in disbelief and half in amusement. Then Manav and I start dancing along, having a blast, soaking it in, etc. But let's face it, really? Is this really happening? Did they really organize a birthday party to celebrate that 10 years ago they took the World Cup? Très pathétique, non? This is especially embarrassing after France's poor form in the Eurocup this summer. This is laughable pride on a whole other level. Anyhow, I'm not going to keep writing about how this was ridiculous because I want to let you guys soak in the situation and experience that great moment of incredulous condescension. I really wish I had a video to post of this.

Aside from a night in StadeFrance that gave the world yet another launchpad for another slew of reasons to hate on the French, the rest of the weekend was full of as I said earlier, fireworks and firemen. On the night of the 13th, firefighters all over Paris turn their respective firestations into huge clubs, hosting what are known as 'bals des sapeurs-pompiers'. There must be something like twenty of these littered all around the city, one or two in each arrondisement and each playing different music and decorated in different "themes". The firemen turn into huge sex symbols, and in a fashion similar to American frat boys, set out to get every girl tanked off her ass while gyrating on tables with little to no clothes on. These parties are packed tighter than Compton packs heat, and the lines for some of them are over an hour long. I felt like I was back in college. The day of the holiday itself, Monday, brings an early (10:30am) morning parade down the Champs. The day is a public holiday, one with beautiful weather this year as well, and a huge fireworks show blows up at night on the Champs de Mars in front of the Eiffel Tower. If I had been a good little tourist I would have made my way there midday to wait out a spot, but instead I watched the fireworks from far, far away drinking on (the bridge) Pont Des Arts.

So thats Bastille Day in France for you. Funnily enough, I spend most of the night of the eve at a samba bar with Mirella and some Brazilians. I ridiculed their World Cup birthday party with a Norwegian, didn't go to the parade but wandered around the Marais with a Swiss girl, and I watched the firework frenzy from a bridge near the Louvre with Laurie and her Irish friends. It's like the one weekend I was supposed to go all out and be French, it was just a little too much for me. I suppose that is only fair though, I did spend my own country's Fourth of July ten days ago with a Colombian/German and a Spanish dude, drinking on the River Seine far away from any American flag, BBQ grill, or decent English grammar...

...C'est la vie. Viva la France!

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Photos

cool art
outside of Pompidou

music box stand
my Parisian friend Eric Aubert gave me one of these little boxes when he came to Hong Kong

Tasslem, me
lunch in the Marais, Bastille Day

Samba with the Brasiliens
Patrick, me, Mirella

Seine at night
before the Bastille Day fireworks

Comments

[Sherry]

Encouragement
Amy, you are, flat out, one of the most talented writers! No, not just a fine writer, but an ever fascinating, out front, too cool, top notch representative of, historically flamboyant, unbridled American womanhood. Keep it up and you will be a major discovery. You can do anything you want...books, films, tv...all of it. Thanks for the sparkling entertainment. Best, s