Aryans jostled me at the summit of the Eiffel Tower; Plus, "I'll see you in the promised land"

You know those movies where the hero (with trusty sidekick) travels to strange, foreign lands on a dangerous quest to rescue the object of their lusty affection/search out an abducted mentor/attain a distant halcyon utopia and/or retrieve the Holy Grail? And the heroes stroll into small, isolated villages as the inhabitants stare at them relentlessly, pausing in their tasks of gambling on the front porch/hanging laundry to dry/forging a wicked-looking sword at the local blacksmith's?

This is what it was like when Anne and I finally reached our destination of Auxerre, France. Everybody STARED at us, even when we were walking along quietly, not uttering a single word of English (or any other remotely offensive foreign language). The city itself was lovely - narrow, winding streets, quaint architecture with exposed wood beams at every turn, gorgeous churches, and the oldest vineyard in France! Unfortunately, however, the citizens of Auxerre were just plain WEIRD (and not in a pleasant, chuckle-inducing fashion).

Exhibit A: Odile Bry, the dead-eyed woman who owned the B & B we stayed at for three days. Sure, she had chilled a large bottle of spring water in preparation for our arrival, offered us delightful homemade jam every morning, and plied us with picture books of Burgundy, but we had to pry all sorts of important information out of her that she really should have put out there immediately. Like - when do we pay? Where is our key? At what time do we eat in the morning? Um, so where is our room?

Exhibit B: Dominique Bry, the husband of Odile (seemingly not at all involved nor impressed with the B & B portion of his house). I first encountered Monsieur Bry when sitting outside in the garden, waiting for Anne to get started with the day. He banged through the security gate with his racing bicycle, dressed in complete biking gear (including stupid aerodynamically-tapered helmet and biking clogs). I extended my hand in greeting, he stared at me with suspicion, and then proceeded to snort in derision when I asked him whether there were any good restaurants in the area. French restaurants, he told me with some indignation, only open their doors after 7.30 PM. It was 3.30 PM.

Exhibit C: The ridiculous waiter who ignored us at a local sandwicherie, mortally offended by a request for Diet Coke. Thank High Heaven Anne was aware of the fact that in European French-speaking countries, we do not ask for a "Diet Coke," as we do in Quebec, but for a "Cola-Light." I'm not too worried, though, because it's pretty clear that that snooty waiter (short with a receding hairline) is going to FRY IN HELL. Oh yes he will.

Exhibit D: The old man with ill-fitting trousers who worked at the local marina. Anne and I settled at a table in front of the office in order to take advantage of the sun and play some cards. The old man strolled past us, inquired whether we had business at the marina (we murmured a negative politely), stopped to trace a large circle with his hand (indicating the area we were sitting in), and said in slow, condescending tones, "This is WHERE - WE - WORK." We nervously moved further down the river once he had left, where Anne promptly discovered a veritable treasure trove of four-leaf clover. A skittish cat joined us shortly afterwards.

Paris was another story. Clearly resigned to the constant influx of North American tourists, the Parisians have bowed (not without some traces of resentment) to their ignominious fate. Anne, Andrew, and I stayed at a lovely hotel plastered with B & W photographs of old movies in a really interesting district, within walking distance of all the major sites. We hit up Notre-Dame Cathedral, Sainte-Chapelle, le Jardin du Luxembourg, Saint-Denis Basilica (burial place of all but three French kings), the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, and L'As du Fallafel (the Ace of Fallafel!). We even witnessed a student protest/possible riot brewing near the Sorbonne!

The Eiffel Tower, while pleasant, was a bit of a fiasco. I think we spent 3-4 hours up that crazy-beautiful monument. Did you know that it's not made out of steel? It's constructed of 'puddle-iron'! That sounds incredibly stable and safe! Like iron that possesses the special ability to melt when exposed to normal levels of sunlight but then regains a solid shape when poured into a cool, dark drawer positioned within a special military-commissioned fume hood! The elevators were terribly crowded, and I somehow always ended up with my face smashed against the window of the door, while Death pressed against me from behind a LEETLE-TOO-CLOSELY, breathing obscenely into my hair as the Parisian landscape plummeted below me, my eyes sliding in and out of focus. Then there was the CRAZY ANGRY American lady, shouting at various other tourists. Then came the small army of tall, all-male German adolescents, sweeping around and engulfing us while loudly guffawing in jarring Teutonic speak. And why was that Italian family having such a good time?

I'm tired of writing this, so I'm going to skip to our Eurostar trip home. Two English gentlemen boarded our car (as Anne related to me), and, as one friend took leave of the other to go sit in a different car, said "OK, mate, I'll see you in the promised land." Because I was desperate to get back to London, and because I love all things Jewish with a special kind of ferocity, this very funny remark struck a special chord within me. Although I loved Paris intensely, and was completely mesmerized by its stunning monuments and oh-so-pleasing rational urban planning, not to mention those amazing trees-cum-hedges scattered about, I realized right there on the Eurostar that I can only truly relate to anglophone culture. Even though I was reared in a bilingual household, I really have no steady concept of what la francophonie is composed of. I don't even care (sort of)! All I cared about at that moment on the train was returning to my intensely anglophone lifestyle in England. And, actually, that's kind of what I want to do now, instead of sitting here typing and chortling to myself contentedly. See ya!