Ed and Lurline Do Paris

You hear a lot about Ugly Americans. For example, I watched A Good Year on the plane when we traveled to Syracuse. In one amusing scene, a horrible woman orders a Saaaa-ladd Nees-wah-zee with no-cal Ranch. Our hero (English, but pretending to be French) (Because the English can't manage supercilious? Au contraire, monsieur!) tells them the McDonald's is up the road.

Cue laughter. Oh, those terrible Americans!

But we've actually seen very little of that behavior this summer. Once, we observed a very cranky man make a scene in an Indian restaurant because our table received food before his meal arrived. He was a jerk. In his defense, though, the service was haphazard and his wife was at least 6 months pregnant. Getting some food on the table mattered to him. Still, he was a jerk.

In the train station today, I overheard a petulant, unattractive teenager dressed in what appeared to be pajamas (in the Gare du Nord!!) complaining 'I'm tired and sick, get me a chair!' to her frazzled parents. She, and the parents who put up with it uncomplaining, personified the unpleasant tourist. Thank God they bought business-class tickets. I heard that with glee, since it meant that they Absolutely Would Not sit with me.

These are petty moments, though. They don't rise to the stereotype in the movie, and they don't suggest any real conflict between Europeans and Americans. In both cases, it's just bad behavior.

But in Paris, during our lovely lunch by the Bourse, Mother and I watched the stereotype unfold before us.

A couple walked into the place, and Mother said, 'you figure they're American?' Maybe. They were both large, and the man wore shorts with a dressy short-sleeved shirt of the type you see a lot in Miami. He had on docksiders, too, which to me is a very American shoe. She wore a tropical printed shirt and had very long fake nails. Hmmm....Texas? Alabama? (surely not Alabama. Lawrence Culver expelled all the tacky people, didn't he?)

They walked back and forth between the two cafes on the corner, and we watched them from behind our wine. They made icky-faces at the menus, apparently not keen to eat salmon or steak or chicken or salad or...or...or... Finally, they settled on our cafe, and sat down. Right away, it was obvious they would not be happy.

No 'Bonjour!' for the waiter, no drink order. Then the English menus appeared, emblazoned with British flags. Uh oh. They sat for almost 20 minutes, trying to decide what to order, no drinks, no attention from the staff. Mother dubbed them Ed and Lurline, and we waited to see what would happen.

I should say, at this point, that the cafe was packed. Of all the tables, only 4 held people clearly not French. There was the table with 2 Italians and one French woman, the table of 3 lovely Italian or Spanish girls who spoke French, and us. We spoke French whenever possible and ordered in French and ate three courses and ordered wine. We were 'good foreigners.'

All those tables, ours in particular (probably because of how much we ordered), received impeccable service. Service with a smile, service attentive to the need for a new fork, more bread, whatever we needed.

But not Ed and Lurline. They sat, and sat. Finally, they gave up. We watched them leave in total disbelief.

For one thing, it's not clear to me what their real sin was. They looked kind of touristy, and they got English menus. But they didn't scream or complain or otherwise make a scene.

On the other hand, they never waved for a waiter or spoke to the staff, even though this cafe had 20 tables crammed into a space the size of my thumbnail. They sat there like planked fish.

It was bizarre. Both of us felt sorry for them. They seemed completely lost. What were they doing in Paris? Why wouldn't they even raise a hand on their own behalf?

Given Charles' ecstatic reaction to Scotland (now including Glasgow, which he loved), maybe some people are simply suited for some places. For Mother and me, Paris was perfect. For others, not so much.