France: #ToutsAuBistrot!

My word, I do like the French! That’s up there with things I thought I’d never say, like ‘Just the one, please.’ But after spending three days in Paris two weeks after the Islamist massacre, I have become their biggest fan. Yes, I’m fully aware that the Parisiennes aren’t the French –— but the pedants among you will please overlook the sweeping generalisation.

I thought it was important, having read that France had already lost €2 million worth of business due to a wave of cancellations, to show support. When I read that Parisiennes were trending the hashtag ‘#ToutsAuBistrot’, it was a no-brainer. Unfortunately, we arrived on the first day of the climate conference, and the motorways were closed. Never mind; the trains were free, and it felt thrillingly cosmopolitan to just rush through the barriers. All was fine until a group of black and Arabic youngsters got on; the looks they received from the commuters could have cooled down an Ibizan foam party. Ever keen to do my bit for inter-faith relations, I wriggled a little closer to the young North African man sitting next to me and received a lovely smile. I thought I was being Ban Ki-moon, but it’s likely that I was mistaken for a sozzled middle-aged slapper up for a bit of fun.

It took quite a while to find our hotel, and at this time we assumed that the Parisiennes were still their same old snooty selves. The police and the taxi drivers did that famous thing where they pretend not to understand when you talk French to them: they all gave my husband the same blank look until he wrote it down, at which point they all went ‘Ah! Rue — d’Anjou!’ exactly the way he’d said it in the first place.