The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, [...]]]> My name is Kristie. Not only am I a baguette-a-holic, but I am also a market-a-holic.

The first step to recovery is admitting that one cannot control one’s addiction or compulsion.

I admit that I have a big, BIG problem with markets.

Today, at the market, I cried over salad.

Yes. Salad.

M and I were at the Italian stand, trying to work our what type of fresh ravioli we would buy, when a radiant green flashed in the corner of my eye.

A row of different types of salad leaves, in separate wicker baskets.

The first, carrying baby spinach leaves, even more beautiful than their name in French: “Jeunes pousses d’epinards”. How can I explain how perfect they were? Tender, fresh, without a single blemished leaf? How is it possible to have a whole basket of delicate leaves without them looking a little transport-weary? I could have sworn that he had picked each leaf by hand and carried it delicately to rest in the basket.

The next basket was full of fine tendrils of rocket. Not the big, burn-your-mouth-out leaves that I used to buy in Woolworths supermarket in Sydney. These rocket leaves were elegant, fine, gently curling, as if asking to be placed on your fork.

And the other baskets – salad leaves that I have only seen in France, like Mache.

It was a moment of amazement and wonder and I actually welled up. How can you live in a big city, and yet have access to produce that you would normally have to go to the country to find, or grow in your own backyard?

And we’re not even in Paris central. We’re in a little suburb just outside of Paris, and yet the market is open 2 or 3 mornings a week.

This market is undercover, in a big hall on the main street. I walked past it’s grimey doors a million times, thinking it looked too ugly to warrant a visit. The supermarket was just fine by me, and if I wanted a proper market experience, then I would just join my friend, A, at the organic market on Rue de Rennes, in Paris.

But one day, M suggested we make a quick Sunday trip to get a few things before all the shops closed on Monday (yes – in most suburbs, all the shops and restaurants close on Mondays. If you dont have anything in the fridge to eat for Monday night’s dinner – you’re stuffed).

Wow – from a dingy entrance, into a fabulous market atmosphere inside. There are:

• 3 cheese stalls (including my favourite husband and wife stall, where they always seem to be bickering and laughing together)
• one basic butchery, one butchery selling offal, and one butchery selling pate, terrines, pre-prepared meat dishes etc
• 5 fruit and vege stalls, with one particularly raucous Italian fruit and vege stall where the owners always seem to be doing more talking, giving kids strawberries to taste and general frivolity, than selling. I dont know how they do it, but they always have a crowd.
• 2 fish stalls (I avoid these like the plague – the smell for me is just too fishy!!)
• 2 flower/plant stalls (you name it – they got it)
• one wine stall (poor guy is always lonely. Everyone prefers the cute man in the bottleshop across the road)
• one cured meats stall (cured meats from everywhere – Corsica, French mountains, Italy, yum yum…)
• one italian stall, with mozzarella de buffala, fresh pasta, fresh pasta sauce, salami, proscuitto and delicious antipasti
• one stall that just does olives, tapenade and antipasti – thats it.
• one stall that just does potatoes and herbs – and salad…..

Now,  every Sunday, I promise myself that I will only buy the necessities: the things that we have run out of from our 2 weekly supermarket shop, or the things that we cant get anywhere else. I promise myself that I will only buy the items I have written on the list. This is partly because the market is more expensive than the supermarket, but also as a way to control my addiction.

Some weeks, I succeed in only buying the things on the list – hurrah!

Other weeks, I just lose myself in the whirlwind of delicious market goodness; the people, the dogs, the banter between stallholder and local – and I want it too. I want to be given chunks of cheese to taste by the cheeseman, I want the fruit and vege man to greet me with a smile, I want the potato man to say “oh well, its better to have a big tall fiance with a big appetite than a small weedy one!” as he piles an extra couple of spuds in the bag. If I pass a fresh and beautifully pink pork fillet that has never seen a styrofoam tray or chemical preservatives – how can I leave it behind? I imagine that everything I buy from the market is full of vitamins, minerals and health-giving properties, and will without doubt be more delicious than anything I can buy from the “Auchan” supermarket (whether that’s true for everything in the market, I dont know, but the placebo effect works fabulously on me!).

Sometimes, the market isnt even about me, it’s just about watching how other people interact, watching how they choose their produce, listening to the conversations two women are having about their husbands and their work. I listen to the politeness, the protocol of the market, how things must be displayed, the interaction between stallholders who discuss whether it’s time to start packing up or if they can put aside a fillet of salmon for a customer who has just bought some fennel and lemons. This is the true France, the true meeting point of the neighbourhood – and I love it.

If there is such a thing as heaven, I am absolutely positive that there will be a market there.

Politeness

You wont get ANYTHING done in France unless you’re polite. And not just basic common decency, I mean OTT, almost grovelling type [...]]]> OK, after a year in Paris, and after reading possibly every book there is on what foreigners think about French culture and values, I think I’m getting the hang of some of the themes….

Politeness

You wont get ANYTHING done in France unless you’re polite. And not just basic common decency, I mean OTT, almost grovelling type politeness. One of my favourite ways to witness this is when listening to French people call someone “official” (including customer service lines for your internet etc – oh, and recruiters…). Their voice becomes soft, higher pitched, sweet as sunshine. They use all forms of politeness: Mr, Mrs, I’m very sorry to disturb you, I’m not disturbing you, am I?, I just have a small problem and I would be SO grateful if you could help me, oh? you cant help me? and you dont know anyone else who can?, oh, well, thank you very much for your time, I wish you a very good day, good bye”. Even if they’re in the wrong, if you’re not polite, they really will hang-up/tell you to piss-off/not answer your question.

The same goes for the markets and boulangeries: you MUST say hello and you must say please and thank you and you must put on your best accent and formal pronounciation. If a stall holder asks you if you would like your potato galette heated, you must never say “Bah, ouah!” (Translation: “Ummm, yeah!”). Just try it, and see the stall holders face look like they’ve just bitten into a lemon. If it’s a fairly touristy market, they will probably bite their tongue, but beware of doing that in a locals market. I wouldnt even dare do that in a boulangerie – even if you do get your bread, it’s likely to be the baguette that is over-cooked, was dropped on the ground and it will be given with a sneer. Most times, I think you’d probably get yelled at or told that there is no bread available (then serve the person behind you, with their pretty French accent).

And public transport: oh dear. Here is where you’ll find yourself yelled at pretty quickly if you arent polite. I have heard screaming rows on the metro because a man had inadvertently touched a woman in a sensitive spot (I’m not sure where, and maybe he did it intentionally, who knows?). Oh boy, did he get a slammed by the woman and her female friends. Even the very polite French will make it very clear to you that you are very badly brought up and that you really had better find somewhere else to stand.

Pride

The thing that I find interesting is the reaction to abuses of politeness. The Japanese are a polite culture, but breaches of these rules are not met with assertive statements proclaiming that a rule has been breached and that there will be retribution. Why do the French make it known that you’ve been impolite? I think it’s pride. They are very proud people. They are proud of their culture and traditions and will shout it to the rooftops. They are also proud of themselves, and believe that they are, quite often, superior to everyone. Without a doubt, the French will tell you, straight-faced, that France and French people basically invented everything. M says that a Frenchman invented electronic/dance music, for example. OK, maybe Jean-Michel Jarre was one of the pioneers of this genre, but, ya know, maybe Kraftwerk was doing some similar stuff at the same time and how can we REALLY be sure who “invented” it? No, it’s a fact, he says, the French invented dance music. Ok…..

Passion

The French are hot-blooded animals. Even those wealthy sophisticated Parisiens will find a way to channel their passion: political debates, hot sexy affairs, lingerie. It doesnt matter what it is, be it the state of the economy, or the quality of the eggplants at the market, the French will find a way to be passionately involved in everything.

I’m sure there are lots of other things, but these 3 P’s just struck me as I was doing the washing up today ((how glamorous!)

PARIS — Many French people aren’t devout but hold to at least one religious teaching: Sunday is a day of rest.

That practice is under threat from a controversial pro-work law that will allow more [...]]]>

PARIS — Many French people aren’t devout but hold to at least one religious teaching: Sunday is a day of rest.

That practice is under threat from a controversial pro-work law that will allow more French stores to open Sundays. The law was passed by Parliament Thursday. That is causing worry over the decline of leisure in the traditional French lifestyle, piquing many who feel that unindustrious Sundays are something of a birthright.

Mr. Sarkozy also said that having shops closed on Sundays was backwards in one of the world’s top tourist destinations. He complained that he had to intervene last month, when U.S. first lady Michelle Obama wanted to buy children’s clothes in Paris on Sunday, June 7.

France is one of the last European countries to relax Sunday trading rules. The U.K., where the Sunday break traces back to the Middle Ages, loosened most restrictions in the mid 1990s. In staunchly Catholic Italy, rules were eased more than a decade ago.

Things are also complicated outside the traditionally Christian world. Algerians have taken Thursday and Friday off, the traditional Islamic holidays. But that hindered trade and communication with other countries. So the Algerian government will recommend that, starting next month, businesses close on Fridays and Saturdays.

In France, plenty of groups are campaigning against the change. Labor unions and the Socialist and Communist opposition parties have accused Mr. Sarkozy of trying to dismantle France’s protective labor laws, which stop corporations from overworking their employees. The Socialist Party said it would refer the bill to France’s constitutional court on the grounds that it infringes upon workers’ rights.

The Catholic Church has called for the preservation of the balance between weekdays, devoted to work, and Sundays, devoted to family life, sport or “cultural activities.”

Opposition also came from Mr. Sarkozy’s ruling party, the UMP. Philippe Meunier, a lawmaker for the Lyon region, said France must steer clear of a consumer society in which life revolves around shopping. He successfully lobbied to maintain Sunday shopping restrictions in his constituency in order to preserve the traditional Sunday respite, he said, “an essential element of our way of life.”

In fact, plenty of French people already work Sundays, which became the main day of rest in 1906, following campaigns to give workers a better lifestyle. Some restaurants, tobacconists, museums and stores in tourist areas have been allowed to stay open. And the new law doesn’t declare a total open season on Sunday rest. It lifts some restrictions to Sunday openings of stores in some major cities and tourist areas.

Some store owners are torn between a desire to stay open longer and the tradition of resting.

“We’re going through a crisis and I wouldn’t mind opening for business 50 or so more days a year,” said Malek Ferrah, manager of an Ed Hardy designer clothes shop in Paris. “But some people fought for the right to rest on Sunday and I can’t just ignore it.”

Jean Dionnot, a former boxing champion, founded The Collective of Sunday Friends in 2006 to lobby against modifying Sunday trading rules. He said he was appalled by the new law. “Now people will spend their Sundays wandering in malls,” he said.

Mr. Dionnot said he was pausing his campaign for a while, but would resume his fight in September. “It’s the holiday break now,” he said.

—Susana Ferreira contributed to this article.

All French men (and some women) do it. Its more than a glance. Its much, much less than a stare. Its never a leer. Its never accompanied by a smile. It perhaps includes an almost imperceptible look up and down.

Its a brief meeting of eyes. Its nothing more than an [...]]]> Its been described as “The Look”.

All French men (and some women) do it. Its more than a glance. Its much, much less than a stare. Its never a leer. Its never accompanied by a smile. It perhaps includes an almost imperceptible look up and down.

Its a brief meeting of eyes. Its nothing more than an acknowledgment that someone attractive, interesting, intriguing has crossed their path. It does not come with expectations, obligations, or a requirement for reciprocity.

There is never pressure to take it further. There may be an opportunity for that (eg a brief conversation, or even a discreet “intimate” rendezvous).

And perhaps that’s the most alluring thing about “The Look”. The heart flutter that comes from the excitement of meeting someone new, the opportunity of sensual “possibilities”.

Its 100% guarantee that, as a woman, if you walk down the street in France, you will get at least one “Look”. Everyday. On a good day you may receive 2 or 3.

If I receive “The Look”, it changes the way I hold myself, the way I walk, my facial expressions. I think this is the “thing” that French women have, the “je ne sais quoi”, the indescribable allure. They have known since they were little girls that they are beautiful and attractive. Everyday of their life, they receive more reminders.

Maybe this could be twisted into a belief that it is obligatory to look “desirable” all the time, in order to keep receiving “The Look”, or attract male attention. But really, I dont think its necessary. I’m no glamour puss. I’m not a size 6 model type. I certainly dont have a French woman’s body shape. And yet I still get “The Look” frequently enough for me to want to do my hair properly, add some eyeliner, just because I’m feeling good about myself.