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This is a very sensitive post. It deals with issues of race and immigration which are very close to some people’s hearts.
I have to say upfront that I have no doubts whatsoever that I am one of the most privileged people in the world, and I have no right to complain about minor inconveniences to the achievement of my dreams.
But I want to explain a bit about some of the issues that arise in France, and compare that to how we treat immigration in Australia.
I find it quite funny that I am now an “immigrant”, a “foreigner”, on the outside of French society, willing to do (almost) anything to get the right to stay and work in France. I want to share some of the emotions that go with that “role” – even if I am coming at the topic from a position of wealth and privilege.
Please feel free to add (intelligent, constructive) comments at the end. I would love to hear different people’s views – or any information that adds to the overall picture.
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People often ask me about why I dont have the right to work in France. I’m educated, experienced, willing to work and can bring a lot to the country.
I tell people that it’s exactly the same in Australia. I know so many French people who would nearly kill for permanent residency in Australia – people who are skilled, speak English well and hard-working – but cant get enough “points” to be accepted.
But there really are some big differences between the way the two countries treat immigrants.
I’ll put refugees to the side for the purpose of this post – legitimate refugees have a genuine, life-threatening reason to flee their country. I’m talking more about “financial refugees” or people just looking for a better life.
Have a read of this article: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/11/world/europe/11illegal.html?pagewanted=1&_r=2
This is the stuff that makes both the right wing and left wing in France go nuts.
The right says that we cant take in everyone, why is the government allowing all these people to remain in the country illegally, and why are unskilled migrants given residency papers without following the normal legal processes like everyone else?
The left says that its disgusting that a civilised country like France has people living in squats, being exploited by unethical employers and why shouldn’t people wanting to work for the country be given the opportunity particularly when they often come from countries with zero opportunities to improve their standard of living?
There is a definitely push and pull even within the government systems (even if we have a right wing government in power). Everyone technically has to follow the same process to gain working papers in France. This ensures a level of fairness. Except that there are a lot of ‘white’ French people who dont want more Africans and Arabs in France, and so the actual process is either:
(a) skewed towards developed countries (eg where documents like birth certificates are readily available. No birth certificate, no visa. Or perhaps the cost of translating the documents is too expensive for some people to pay. No translation, no visa.) and/or
(b) the process is used to weed out people that the person sitting in the Prefecture doesnt like (eg the process allows Prefecture staff to ask for “any other documents that the staff member thinks is necessary” – which means that they can keep asking for more and more documents, no matter how crazy, in the hope that the person will give up, or just flat-out refuse a visa on the basis they they didnt have adequate documentation).
Some of the resistance to give working papers to migrants stems from France’s high-unemployment rate (currently 10%): why should jobs be given to foreigners when there arent enough jobs for French citizens? OK, I understand that. But where would Australia be if not for all the immigrants who helped to build our country?
Hey there French Government! I’m educated! I’m experienced! I WANT to pay taxes! Give me working papers!
All this has made me really think about what it means to be an immigrant. What sort of person do you have to be, what situation do you have to find yourself in, in order to pack up your entire life and move to another country? Why do people want to move countries?
The idea of immigrants is, in Australia and France, demonised. Immigrants as criminals, trying to take jobs from locals, trying to enforce a cultural-takeover of the country with their strange customs and clothes…But is that REALLY what someone thinks when they move out of their home country?
I’ve basically come to my current conclusion (naive? yes. not fully informed? yes.), that there should be no border controls. A national registration system for all residents would be essential. And residency wouldnt give an immediate right to citizenship. Nor would it give the immediate right to government benefits. But I just cant see the point in stopping people who are willing to work and make a better life for themselves and their children. I dont actually think that this would increased immigration numbers dramatically, just a slight shifting of population globally. And wouldn’t an empty country be a big kick up the butt for some of those African dictatorships? Hmm?
I love comparing France’s immigration issues with Australia’s immigration “problems”: “Boat People Out of Control!”
http://www.smh.com.au/world/boat-people-trade-out-of-control-20100408-rv73.html
The idea that it is being “flooded” with illegal immigrants is kinda funny when you consider the statistics:
http://www.unhcr.org/4ba8d8239.html
OK, they dont break the EU figure into individual countries, but its generally known that France gets the majority of them because of lenient treatment of illegal immigrants.
In France, even if you are deported, you are generally sent home on a plane (sometimes a plane is chartered for a small group of people) and given around 2000 euros for “resettlement costs”. I’m not sure how much it costs to pay people smugglers to get from Africa to Paris, but its not a bad deal that you get to re-coup your costs even if you fail to gain residency.
Compare that to Australia’s detention centres, where people are locked into detention centres until they can be assessed, and remain there if they cant afford the flight back home. (Australia is even so kind as to burn traditional wooden Indonesian fishing boats (with no electronic navigation systems) caught in Australian waters so that (a) they have no way of getting home (b) not even some money from selling the boat to find a way home and (c) no income in the event that they do manage to find some money to get home. OK, it’s not cool to be fishing in our waters, or to be over-fishing/fishing endangered species, but really what we do in response is just gross).
Why does Australia do this?
So ok, I like the idea that France treats people more humainly, but when I’m feeling really down about being rejected from a job once again because I dont have the right to work here, I cant help but wonder whether I might have a better chance of getting my papers if I was hanging out in a squat with everyone else.
Am I just jealous? Am I behaving like a spoilt little rich kid? YES!
I had a good life in Australia. I can return there safely and easily find a job and accommodation and enjoy the peaceful environment and stable government.
I know I am nothing like someone who has come from an African country where young girls are taken in as “girlfriends” for aging government officials, where theft is the only way to make sure you have enough money to feed your family that night, where all the country’s wealth goes to a corrupt President and his “chosen few” which they spend in the Louis Vuitton store on the Champs-Elysees.
And a lot of people have told me that getting my “carte de sejour” (temporary residence card – as a visitor only) is definitely made easier because I’m a nice white rich girl from a “friendly” country.
But still. I cant help but mumble under my breath when I find out that someone who just turned up in Paris, with no intention to integrate in even the slightest way (including people who still wish to practice and enforce female circumcision – as heard by a friend as she was sitting in an “integration” course for new residents), can be given permanent residency just because the government wants to keep them quiet.
The squeaky wheel gets the oil.
But all things considered, I wont be squeaky, especially when I am lucky enough to have my “Plan B” as the beautiful land called Australia.
And I will continue to follow the “legal” path of getting my papers in France, even if it often seems impossible. It’s nothing compared to what some people have to do to escape war and poverty.
What to you think?
I didnt realise how good my life was until I got here and realised it was gone.
That’s not to say that I didnt realise my life was good – I knew it was great.
Thats not to say either that I didnt appreciate what I had – I was so grateful for what I had.
But I seriously lacked the depth of understanding.
I did, really, take a lot of things for granted. Like the cheap cost of living, variety of restaurants, perfectly fabulous group of friends where each one is an absolute star that I would happily spend hours with. I didnt realise that the friends I have in Sydney are the result of year and years of culling and careful selection, a gradual build-up of fantastic people. I thought I could make friends in Paris quickly and easily, and while I’ve met lots of new people, there are not many I would be willing to keep as friends. Or is a friend an acquaintance that has shared years of trials and tribulations with you, and has become a friend through proof of commitment? I didnt realise that making friends was actually a very complex process.
I thought I would find out who my ‘real’ friends were by those who stayed in contact with me. Actually, staying in contact superficially is quite easy and doesnt necessarily mean that someone is a good friend. Some of the people I’ve realised are good friends dont always contact me. But they are are the one’s who are first to support me when things are a bit tough, the one’s who encourage me to keep going and remind me why I’m doing this in the first place.
That said, what I also didnt realise, was how comfortable I would be here in Paris.
I knew I would like it, that I would enjoy it. I thought I would like living here.
But it’s turned out to be more than that.
I find that I have a lot in common, in general with Paris and Parisiens. I have discovered that I havent really had to change my personality to be “socially correct” all that much at all and that most of the ways I’ve changed have been in ways that I’ve enjoyed changing.
I am loving politeness. I’m loving the bitching about paying too much in taxes and yet getting so excited about government paid leisure activities (Paris Plage for example: 3 “beaches” created next to the Seine by way of truckloads of sand, temporary restaurants, palm trees, book hire, hammocks and deck chairs etc etc – who needs to leave the city for holidays?!!). I’m loving that people dont eat and walk at the same time. I love that at a dinner party everyone will agree that the wine doesnt go with the meal, and the host will put the cork back in and select another. Takeaway coffees dont exist.
I didnt realise that I would be so comfortable with the French acceptance of both the pains and joys in life. Life is lived passionately, joyfully. Even anger, sadness and depression is, I wont say “welcomed”, but “accepted” as a facet of human existence. Emotion is a normal part of living, and there is no shame in showing it publicly.
I didnt realise how much of an English “stiff upper lip” I have, and how cold and repressed I can be.
What I did realise, was that living in France would give me a whole new perspective on life. And I’m still so grateful to have the opportunity to broaden and deepen my experience of life. I hope it makes me a better person. I think it’s started a little already 
But no – coffee in Paris really IS bad.
This article claims that it’s because the French have acquired a certain taste for burnt dishwater, but I think it’s more that they havent been exposed to anything better.
Which I find REALLY strange. I mean, they really do train their children to have sensitive palates, they appreciate the subtleties of flavour and they insist on quality of their food and drink.
Why not coffee?
There are plenty of Italians and Spanish in Paris – why havent they kicked up a stink? Why havent they set up their own coffee shops to sell coffee like they have in Rome or Barcelona?
I suspect that this is part of France’s cultural pride and insistence on assimilation of foreigners.
Too proud to admit their coffee is crap and intolerant of people retaining their own culture within France (despite public declarations of welcoming all those in need of a home).
It really brings home just how coffee-centric we are in Australia.
Most cafes wouldn’t even dream of putting someone behind the coffee machine unless they’d been to (at least one) barista course and had several years experience.
If a cafe has bad coffee, we wont go back. And if the coffee is good (like my old local Single Origin in Surry Hills), then we’ll line up on the street for 20mins and pay $3.50 without question.
I know a couple of Frenchies who have been converted to Sydney “Lattes”. I cant wait to convert a few more!
I’ve hard about the coffee shop mentioned at the end of the article. I’ll have to pay them a little visit in the hope that I will, finally, find a great cup of delicious coffee a little closer to home than Rome or Sydney….
http://tmagazine.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/04/08/ristretto-why-is-coffee-in-paris-so-bad/
My name is Kristie, and I’m a French-bread-a-holic.
Its been 8 hours since my last baguette.
I have recently come to realise that I am more than just appreciative of French bread. I am, actually, addicted.
Why? Because French bread actually has flavour. It tastes of bread like grandma used to make, and ovens and fire and toasted goodness. Its not just some flabby, sugary, perfectly square excuse to hold your ham and cheese together.
On the outside, French bread is crunchy or sometimes just lightly crusty. For me, biting into the crunchy exterior of a baguette is so satisfying. Like jumping in a pile of dry leaves, like wringing out a whole sheet of bubble-wrap.
Now that I’m starting to get more involved in French culture, I’m also starting to associate the sound of a baguette crunching with that warm fuzzy sensation of friends, family and sharing close moments together.
And as I mentioned in previous posts, you are supposed to rip pieces of baguette off with your bare hands. These people man-handling their bread, are the same people who eat pizza and bananas with knife and fork. Go figure.
Most areas of Paris or “quartiers” will have more than one Boulangerie available. If one Boulangerie wants to go on holidays, it will organise with the other for it to stay open during that time, and vice versa. French people must NEVER be without fresh bread!
This, of course, does nothing but exacerbate my addiction.
I’m starting to know what time the boulanger (baker) sends out each batch of baguettes at my local boulangerie (so that I can pick up a hot crusty one).
And bread is cheap! It’s less than A$1.80 for a hot fresh baguette (which M says is daylight-robbery when you consider how much they used to cost in French Francs), but I still think it’s a bargain. The French Government even regulates the price of bread to make sure that it’s accessible to even the poorest in the community.
The main problem with my addiction seems to be, ahem, “digestion”. My body is used to the Australian way of living. We dont eat bread with every meal, and when we do, it’s often a minimal amount that includes grains or seeds or “wholemeal”. My body just doesnt know what to do when it gets a delicious white sour-dough baguette in large quantities. And so it sits there, at each digestion stage, waiting for a signal to move on.
For the French, digesting white baguettes is as natural as breathing. One French friend who had been living overseas for many years said that he actually lost weight when he moved back to France and had never felt more “regular”.
For me, going “cold turkey” and giving up bread completely just isn’t an option. Why would I not profit from one of the most fantastic aspects of France while I’m living here? So I have , literally, had to put myself on rations.
But oh, when I hear the call of a hot fresh baguette, it’s a siren song that I cant resist…..
There are a lot of things about eating (and drinking!) that people dont know when they come to Paris. Some things will be overlooked as simple cultural misunderstandings, but other things will have Parisians seriously fuming and talking in hushed tones with their colleagues about how “rude” tourists are.
I have made so many mistakes, but each mistake has brought me further and further behind the Parisian “Cold Front”: the seemingly impenetrable facade of arrogance and disinterest.
I’ve added to this list for about a year now. I keep adding and adding, never knowing when the list will be complete and I can finally write a nice piece on them (or perhaps have an idea of how to break them up into little sub-categories. But having all these incomplete posts in my drafts is driving me batty! so I’m just going to post my list and come back to it later (perhaps when I get an offer for a book deal….. lol).
And this list form is probably easier for you all to read as well! (but dont be surprised if I start changing it bit by bit and it starts to look more and more categorised and polished!)
Entering and Leaving a Cafe/Restaurant/Bar
- Golden Rule for all restaurants, cafes, bars and small shops: You MUST say “Bonjour Monsieur” or “Bonjour Madame” to the first person you see (and also any other waiters/staff you pass as you head to your table). The French see eating establishments and shops in the same way as they see their home. Would you walk into someone’s house without saying hello and casually go through their cupboards? Do you not say good night to you friends as you leave after dinner? Waiters are not there to provide a service to anyone who walks in the door, in the same way that you dont have to accept just anyone into your house. Behave badly, and a waiter will be sure to tell you, or ask you to leave. You are there to ASK if they would SO GRACIOUSLY provide you with a coffee. It’s the restaurants decision as to whether they will serve you or not. And in Paris, with so many tourists, they really CAN afford to be picky. They would much rather be treated with respect than take your money. They are proud people. Which is kinda noble, in a way, but is also perhaps a factor contributing to France’s languishing economy.
- When leaving an establishment, always say at least one of the following “Merci” (Thank you), “Au revoir” (Good bye), “Bonne journee” (Have a good day). If you manage to squeeze in all three, you’re on a winner!
Dealing with waiters during the meal
These points are actually universal for dealing with Frenchies in any situation. They are guaranteed winners for getting a gentle, helpful response and a smile.
- Always apologise first when you need to ask a question or seek their assistance. Even if you dont know how to say this in French, say it in English and put an “I’m sorry” expression on your face. The classic line is “Excuse me, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I have a small problem…..”.
- To get somones attention in a cafe/restaurant you say: “S’il vous plait…”
Coffee Rules
“Un cafe” literally translates as “a coffee”. But in practical terms, it means a small cup of coffee, straight up: ie a short black or espresso. If you are asked if you would like a coffee, and you respond “Oui”, then your waiter will rush off and get you a short black. If you want another type of coffee then you need to respond with the name of the type of coffee you would like (even if that means not saying “Oui”). This is just done out of habit because most French people only drink short black coffees. They believe that milk in your coffee is bad for your liver (?).
If you want to be considered as a local, then a great way to show it is to ask for “une noisette”. This is the same as the Italian “Macchiato” and is basically an espresso (short black coffee) with a dollop of milk. (I think the French call it a “noisette” because the word means “Hazelnut” and that’s aboug the size of the blob of milk that goes in the cup. But maybe I just made that up…lol). Sometimes they add the blob of milk for you, but you may also get a jug of warm milk on the side to add to your own taste.
“Allonge” – This is a large black coffee, usually an espresso shot with some added hot water.
If you want a coffee with lots of milk (White Coffee, Flat White, Cafe Latte), then ask for a “Cafe Creme”. Whatever you do, dont ask for a “Cafe Au Lait”. You will most likely get a cup of disgusting American coffee that tastes like boiled dishcloths. Some places will do a Cappucino, but dont bank on it. France is also a little like Italy when it comes to coffee with lots of milk: It’s seen as a breakfast drink, and definitely not something to have with lunch or in the afternoon. But at the end of the day, just drink whatever you feel like and let the waiter give you a funny look – your stomach is the boss!
Sometimes you may be given a little (wrapped) square of dark chocolate with your coffee, or a little biscuit. If you’re lucky, you may be given a biscuit called a “speculoos”, which is a delicious spicy caramelised hunk of Belgian goodness!
Before you Start to Eat or Drink – The Aperitif
Most French people will have a little glass of something while they’re reading the menu and waiting for their meal to arrive.
You’re not obligated to drink alcohol, even a glass of juice or sparkling water is fine.
And of course, you can say that you dont want anything (but be prepared for the waiter and your fellow French diners to think you’re weird).
One classic French favourite is the “Kir”. It originates from the days when preservatives and cooling wasnt around and wine often went off quickly. To keep it “fresh” and to disguise the slightly off taste, they would add a dash of sweet fruity liqueur to the wine. These days, it’s often a nice little glass of white wine (usually Sancerre) with your choice of fruit liqueur: “Peche” (Peach), “Cassis” (Blackcurrant), or “Mure” (Blackberry/Mulberry) are the usual choices. To really go crazy, try a “Kir Royale”, which is a glass of champagne with Cassis. Yum…
Ordering Water with your Meal
It’s never required that you order a pricey bottle of water. Be like the French and ask for a carafe d’eau. If you want to order a bottle of water, ask for gazeuse (with gas) or plat (flat, without gas). Be sure to specify when you order.
Drinks dont normally come with ice, but you might get lucky. You can ask for some more though.
Choosing the Wine
Dont be put off by ordering wine by the carafe. It’s usually pretty good quality and not expensive.
If you have no idea which wine to order, ask the waiter (this also scores brownie points). Unlike Australia, nearly every French person has a fantastic wine knowledge and can happily recommend something to go with your meal and within your price-range (although, as always, beware the waiter who is just trying to get you to order the most expensive wine on the menu because you’re a “tourist”). If you’re too shy, then a Sancerre is a good white wine (although a bit sweet) and a Côte du Rhône is a red that will usually go with everything.
Ordering Meat Dishes
When ordering red meat you will always be asked how you would like it cooked.
Bleu (Blue) means “rare”. Raw meat, hardly cooked, which is how many French people eat beef.
Saignante is medium-rare.
A point (to the point) is medium
Bien cuit is well-done.
If you order something “Tartare” that means that the meat is raw, completely uncooked. Steak Tartare is a French speciality and comes mixed with raw egg, herbs and Wostershire sauce (sometimes Tabasco too). They may just give you the meat and you get to add everything else to your liking and mix it on the plate. You can also ask for this “Aller/Retour” (There and Back), which is the patty seared quickly on each side.
One thing that I absolutely insist on is that my Confit de Carnard (Duck Confit) be very very crispy on the outside. No flabby fatty skin thank you very much! I’m not the only one who thinks so either: http://www.davidlebovitz.com/archives/2009/01/where_is_the_best_duck_confit_in.html
When ordering, it’s best to ask for your Confit de Carnard “bien grille”, to guarantee a yummy crunchy skin.
Tipping
A service charge is always included in the amount shown on the bill (look for the words “service compris”, so tipping isnt really expected. It is still a nice way to show that you’ve been given good service though. Most Parisians just round up to the nearest dollar. For a sit down dinner for two, probably 2 or 3 euros is fine. That said, if you’ve had excellent service, then tipping 5 or 10% will certainly be appreciated To keep waiter’s tipping expectations down when you’re eating in touristy areas, make sure to mention that you’re Australian and not American…
This passage was written by Blanca Vergara, and originally appeared in “Hall of Mirrors”, her free monthly newsletter, available at www.blancavergara.com. It’s an encouraging piece for me, which is something I need to help keep my job-hunting movtivation levels up. Hope you enjoy it too
“These days many of my dreams are coming true. The life that I have today is closer to my dream life than yesterday’s life. Everyday I have to make adaptations to “cope” with the wonders of my new life. Each adaptation implies more focus on what I do want and letting go of what was my past. Each adaptation demands from me to be closer to the dream and to refuse to be seduced by the mediocre and comfortable past. My vision of my dream life is my point of stability in this high speed reality. Holding on to it makes me stable in the flux and flexible for new opportunities.
Having a vision of your dream life is a self fulfilling prophecy. Having a vision of success is for your unconscious mind no different to having actual success in reality. Visualizing the realization of your dream projects is more powerful when you make real space to welcome it. Yes, I mean real space: new binders for the documentation of the new customers, empty drawers for the new clothes you’ll have, smaller size dress for your new slim body, empty hours in your agenda; open eyes, mind and heart to receive what comes…
When you are wandering in the woods, you are not lost. You are acquiring skills and life experience that will ease your way towards fulfilling your true mission. You are acquiring clarity about what your mission is and even how to make it concrete. Wonder! Close those books, switch off (preferably get rid off) that television, switch off the radio… Listen! Listen to the birds, listen to the wind, listen to your heart, and listen to your own wisdom. You have access to infinite intelligence, to infinite wisdom. You just need to listen. Listen and your wisdom will take you to your path. Don’t worry; be gentle to yourself, your path will wait for you until you are ready.“
- Hardly any overseas visitors to keep things lively
- It’s too fucking cold to leave the house, which means no exercise and an any ad-hoc “lets catch up for a coffee” invitations are really not appealing
- It’s grey, so mood-wise, not exactly inspiring
- Seasonal affective disorder at the same time as unemployment blues is like standing with a wet blanket around your shoulders in a commercial refrigerator.
Everyone has said that this is the longest, coldest, snowiest winter in 50 years. If I can survive this one, then I’m hoping that all the rest will seem like a breeze.
I just gathered up all my little scrap pieces of paper that I use to jot down notes when inspiration strikes me (usually when I’m sitting in a cafe and watching the world go by – is there a better way to be inspired to write?)
Turns out I’ve got a heap of stuff written on the back of receipts, printed out train tickets etc and I’m scared that I’m going to lose them if I dont get them into the blogsite asap.
Plus, I have the luxury of time at the moment, and writing is an enjoyable way to pass the time, so why not?
And, well, who knows how much longer I will be in Paris? Writing the blog just wont be the same if I’m not physically present in The City of Light.
So, sorry about the tsunami of posts, but it’s got to be done!
All cars registered in countries in the European Union have a similar number combination on their number plates.
They usually have a blue section on the left, with the EU circle of yellow stars and a letter to indicate the country. So for France, there is an “F”, Germany is “D” (Deutschland), I is for Italy etc.
Then, the last 2 numbers on the French number plate signifies which region you come from (the number is also part of the postcode). So its 75 for Paris, 06 for Nice etc
Ok, its not much. But I find it really fun to check out all the number plates when we’re on the road, working out what country they’re from, whether they’re from the French countryside and just visiting Paris, why they might be here etc. I’m sure it must be a game that French kids play on long drives, but hey, I guess I’m entitled to be a kid sometimes too?
The number plates have a completely different usage for the French. Number plates are there so that you can abuse people more appropriately. They allow you to tailor your abuse in a way that is more specific and therefore, more cutting.
So if you have a number plate ‘”75″, then you are a posh “bourgeois” with your nose stuck up your bum and you think you own the road with your BMW 4-wheel drive as you squeeze down Paris’s tiny cobbled streets. These people should all go back to their mansions in the 16th arrondissment and stay there.
If you have a numberplate “06″ (Nice, in the south of France), they what the heck do you think you’re doing in Paris? Go back to your little country town where people drive at 35km/ph and slow down to admire the shop windows.
If you have a “B” for Belgium, you definitely dont know how to drive, you probably only have half a brain, you could possibly start driving on the wrong side of the road at any moment, and therefore one must accelerate wildly to avoid “un Belge” at all costs.
If you have “GB” (Great Britain), then the French will take great pride in sneering and telling the “rosbif” to go back to their own country. (Note: “Rosbif” is the word “roast beef” spoken with a French accent, a traditional English food and also the colour that the English go when burning themselves in the sunny South of France).
Now, how would I know all this? That’s right, I’ve spent many an hour in the car with M, his aunt, and my friend Fred, listening to the tirade of abuse hurled at unsuspecting tourists and locals alike.
Road rage is a French national sport, and thanks to number plates, it makes the game all the more interesting!
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Friends
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