TooMuchInformation

rue Gabriel Peri/ Blvd. Jean Jaures/ Blvd. Alsace-Lorraine

I was planning to meet Vincent after 5 for a drink. But when I got to school and found the front gate barricaded and a handful of students picketing outside I had a hunch that my classroom was going to be empty. Again. So, I called him up and we bumped the rendezvous to 3:30 and arranged to meet at the Cy Bar.

But, in addition to not having sidewalk service, they were closed. So, we moved to Le Provence and sat in the sun. Vincent ordered a “citron” (water with a dollop of lemon syrup) and I had an Orangina.

The sun proved to be too bright, so we drank and paid and moved on to Cafe Noir. Their west facing sidewalk tables were full, so we sat indoors. I had a noisette and Vincent switched to a “menthe” (water with a dollop of mint syrup).

We discussed the latest developments in the student strikes and made predictions about the President’s upcoming speech. Then we moved on to the post office before it closed at 5.

Which is when Leena called with the suggestion to grab a coffee. Not ones to turn down the opportunity, Vincent and I agreed to meet Leena and Nisha at the Touring Hotel. Where he switched back to a citron and Leena and I had noisettes. Nisha refrained from drinking.

And then we played cards.

rue Belgrade

Leena and I bumped into each other in Park Victor Hugo and wandered to this cafe where we whined and moaned about our friends, our families, our students, the demonstrations, the bus schedules, the weather, and our health. We each had a noisette. Possibly the best one I’ve ever had. It put us in good moods.

The French are so civilized. Yesterday I took a bus to school. On the light board that scrolls the name of the next stop there was an announcement. Basically “The TAG will not be in service between the hours of 9:30am and 7pm tomorrow during the demonstrations against the CPE”.

On the way into class I bumped into a teacher I work with on Tuesdays. She told me not to come in since she would be on strike and the school would likely be closed as a result.

Yesterday afternoon I received a phone call from my French teacher letting me know that there wouldn’t be a French class on Tuesday because of the demonstrations against the CPE. She made it clear that the Alliance Francaise was not on strike, just mindful that others may not want to come in.

The courtesy surrounding a strike is charming. We’ve known since last Friday that Tuesday would be another demonstration. Just how big was clear through the weekend as more unions and groups promised to join in.

Demonstrating is one of the national past times. The seriousness of the issue at hand can be measured not only by the frequency of the protesting, but by who participates. Students and unions? They have something to complain about every year. A day or two publicly displaying their dispute is normal. A few more days and then people notice. If transportation joins the strike, then everyone is affected. If butchers, bakers, grocers, florists join then the country slows down drastically.

Today the water company came to check our meter. It was scheduled last Friday, but I was curious to see if he’d show up. I went to the post office to pick up a package. Closed. But a quaint sign was posted to the door “closed for the duration of the strike”.

I asked another teacher what she could remember of May 1968 - heralded as the ultimate in demonstrations. I was born 1971 and can’t remember learning anything about France in the 60s. She was 14 at the time and living in Paris. The depth of her experience was having to show identification on the subway. Which I’m sure she did in a gracious and dignified manner.

Place Claveyson/rue Millet

While Emma was visiting from England the weather took a pleasantly sunny turn. At her request we came to this popular cafe and sat outdoors. After speed-shopping for shoes, Leena and Eve joined us. Leena ordered a noisette, while Eve, Emma, and I had petits noirs.

Juma showed up, bringin rain and hail with him. We moved under an awning, but it was too small for everyone. We headed to the market cover in Place aux Herbes, hoping the sun would come back. It didn’t, and Juma recommended a teahouse that served Kenyan teas.

By the time we got to Jardin du The the sun had returned. So, again, we sat outside. Eve, Leena, and Emma shared two pots of Nuit a Kathmandu and Juma and I had a pot of the Milima.

This winter I had a conversation with Benoit about the French electoral system. He told me that elections are infrequent (every three years) and that decisions made between them are trusted to the President, the Senate and National Assembly, and regional/local councils. Referendums on local taxes, constitutional amendments, official recalls, etc. are unheard of. Last May’s referendum on the EU constitution was an exception to the rule of letting elected officials do their jobs and pay the price for unpopular decisions in the next election cycle.

The localization of democracy in France occurs in the form of frequent strikes and demonstrations. Right now we’re experiencing a week long student strike against the CPE - Contrat de la Premiere Embauche.

(The first time the CPE was explained to me by a student I thought he was against the first “ambush”. Hard to argue with that. The first ambush has got to be the hardest.)

The CPE is a recent piece of legislation designed to make it easier for companies to hire young people - specifically those without work experience. The rate of youth unemployment is twice the national rate, and is frequently blamed for last fall’s riots across France and generally centered in the low income suburbs.

The CPE gives businesses with new hires discounts on their taxes. It also gives them the right to fire a new employee without reason at any time. Prior to the CPE a student getting his/her first job was contracted to a two year training period. During this training period dismissing an employee was difficult and required a ton of documentation.

As Vincent explained, several companies are expected to abuse the pink slipping half of the law, then turn around and hire new employees so they can extend the tax advantages of the same law.

According to a teacher at my school, the CPE is unpopular because it was railroaded though parliament without any debate. It took the nation by surprise when it was announced. This was the complaint of a one day strike in February. Prior to that, a one and half day strike by some trade unions were protesting the lack of job security provided by the CPE. Two of the five teachers unions at my lycee participated in that strike.

This week all of France’s universities have been closed by the student strike (conveniently timed to coincide with next week’s spring break). With university students staying home from school, so have half of my lycee students.

“I had no one show up today,” another teacher said of her 9am English class. “No one?” I asked. “Zero,” she answered. “Huh,” I grabbed a coffee from the vending machine and headed to my classroom. Five students followed me in. “C’est juste nous,” Maxime said. “And the others?” I asked. “Ils font le greve,” they said. “And you? Why aren’t you on strike?” I asked. Everyone grimaced and shrugged, in that oh so French way. Too indifferent to have an opinion, we had an excellent small group discussion on the New York City subway system. Which I believe was on strike recently.

Boulevard Gambetta

I met up with Leena and Nisha at this quiet cafe on one of Grenoble’s primary avenues. Eve also joined us.

Leena was in a superhero mood, so we discussed which heroes we identify with. Nisha said the Star Spangled Kid, I was in a Wildcat mood, and Leena picked the busty Power Girl. Eve had no opinion.

Then after I recounted a story of being misunderstood at a bakery yesterday Leena made the statement: “Why do you Americans always speak with an American accent, no matter what language you’re speaking?” Nisha laughed, suggesting that she either wondered the same thing or that she thought the question had no merit.

Leena drank a grand cafe creme, Nisha a petit noir, and I had a grand cafe. Eve had just finished coffee with Lauren, so she sat quietly.

Last week Douglas wasn’t feeling well. He woke on Tuesday and said “I don’t feel well.” He said it wasn’t concentrated in the belly, back, or head. Just an all over icky feeling. He went to work anyway and that afternoon called to say he was on his way to a hospital. Diarrhea and vomiting.

Ick.

After a round-about experience of being turned away from one emergency room (not emergency enough) and his doctor not having open appointments for a few hours, he found his way to a clinic.

They hooked him up to a drip to keep him hydrated and collected samples of everything that came out of his body.

And then they admitted him for monitoring. He spent the night in a nice room with private bath and view of the Vercors range. For three nights they tested him repeatedly, and kept him hooked up to an intravenous drip.

They asked if he’d been anywhere exotic in the last month. “Monaco,” he said. “That doesn’t count,” they said. “It’s exotic for me,” he said.

This being France, where personal lawsuits are at a civilized minimum and insurance company lobbyists unheard of, he was allowed to leave the clinic for long stretches during the day. They’d disconnect his I.V., the plastic doohickey sticking out of a vein would be wrapped to his arm, and the nurse would say “Be back by 18.” (It’s still shocking after two years to hear people use a 24hour clock in casual conversation)

Last Friday they put him under anesthesia and explored his stomach through a tube down his throat. This was the most invasive of a series of tests he went through. When I reached the clinic after my morning French class he had been released. He was at home, eating lunch. All tests came back negative, and he was allowed to resume “normal activities”.

And now it’s over. He feels fine. Probably an intestinal flu or food poisoning.

Blvd. Alsace-Lorraine Quickly, before shopping for dinner ingredients, I went to this unique cafe with Nisha and Leena. We perused the weekly papers for ideas about the weekend. Leena was interested in a gospel concert, I carefully read an ad for the Cinq Jours de BD hoping to divine the ticket price, and Nisha encouraged us not to do anything too interesting as she’d be in Geneva. All three of us had cafes au lait.

Place Jean Jaures, Romans-sur-Isere Eclectic cafe with comic book wallpaper. Sat with Toni and Alison - an assistant from Bourton on the Water, England - discussing the French television schedule. Last week Toni watched an hour of a B-horror movie without realizing that CSI was on another channel. She sought Alison’s advice on which television magazine had the best schedule information so that the error wouldn’t happen again. I tried to find the sequence in the wallpaper of an issue of the Outsiders from the 1980s. Toni drank a beer while Alison and I each had a grand cafe.

rue Millet Sat with Vincent in this tea house for an hour or so, speaking our franglais patois (or is that patois franglais?). He drank a pot of Une Nuit à Katmandu. I consumed a pot of the maté vert.