If you've ever shopped in Paris you know what it's like to be ignored by a surly store clerk.

Cold, arrogant, snobbish -- such bitter words seem so out of place in such a beautiful setting, but living in France is not always easy. Unless you are French, that is.

I am just one of thousands of foreigners living in this country, and the daily event that makes me cringe is not shopping at a snooty department store, but going to a French dinner party.

I don't mean my French friends are cold, snobbish or arrogant -- my reason is far simpler: They talk too much.

One of my little sorrows about living among the French is that most of them are hectic talkers as well as the most capricious chatterboxes in the world.

Ask any French man about the restaurant he ate in last night and he will quickly give you a detailed account of the entire evening from the delicate taste of the sauce on the fish to the waitress' appetizing legs. Second, his topics will change too abruptly for you to follow. And third, he won't let you finish what you have to say, even if you are given the opportunity to get a word in edgeways.

For such twitters, a home party is the best chance to enjoy witty discussions to their heart's content. But for most of us poor foreigners, it's more an endurance test than a pleasure -- for long hours we mostly sit like dummies, trapped in a whirlwind of endless talk that we don't really understand.

In early evening, people gather for an aperitif. To wash away the stress of the day, they soon start gossiping over Pastis and port wines, or even chilly champagne and Kir Royal, until they are asked to move to the main table. This is only the prelude to another heavy bout of talking that won't end before 1 a.m.

The French are also a most curious people and they seem to be interested in almost anything, and are more than willing to discuss it freely, and at length. From dating, religion, holiday plans, carpentry (they love it) to 35-hour workweeks and divorce, topics at the table change as quickly as a weathercock on a windy day.

Many French are conscious about what's happening in their country and in the world outside its borders. For example, this year, such topics as the war in Iraq and global terrorism were often the centerpiece of discussion at tables I was invited to.

Observing the French at close quarters, I sometimes wonder if we non-French unjustly brand them as unfriendly, and maybe there are misunderstandings between us. One reason could be that the average French person is not good at foreign languages and is shy. Many I have met told me how they flinched when approached by English-speaking tourists. Otherwise, they are usually a most communicative people, even if it's true that many believe in the superiority of their language over English and prefer that others use French.

When dinner is finished, they continue to talk over coffee, then over digestif. And even when there is nothing left on the table, there is always plenty left to say. In the middle of a working week, nobody seems to care about tomorrow morning.

By midnight my boozy head can't make sense of any more conversation. But it's OK, because I know that being at a party in France is not easy. Again tonight, I content myself with sitting like a dummy among the unceasing voices and smoke, sipping my leftover wine and trying to hide my yawns.

*Produced in the South of France near Marseille, Pastis is a strong, anise-flavored liquor. Kir Royal is a cocktail of champagne and cassis syrup.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: July 31, 2004
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