Lessons from a French bartender

Its days of diplomatic and military gloire may be past, but in other important categories the "Hexagon" gets things right.

Guy walks into a bar. “I’ll have a cognac,” he tells the bartender, who scowls and pretends he didn’t hear. Guy repeats his order. Bartender looks him in the eye and says, “Bonjour, Monsieur.”

Welcome to France, one of the weirdest countries I’ve ever lived in. That thirsty customer was me, years ago, and my surly barkeep was merely teaching me good manners. In France, you should always greet a server or salesclerk or police officer politely before making your needs known. It’s the civilized thing to do.

I was back in Paris last week, getting civilized again. And boy, does France do civilization well. Its art, music, literature, philosophy and other cultural products are among the world’s finest, along with French museums, chateaus, beaches, mountains, fashion houses, restaurants and, of course, manners. Reports of rudeness tend to come from American tourists who forget to say bonjour. A smile wouldn’t hurt, either.

Average life expectancy is a relatively high 84 years (vs. 80 for the U.S.), thanks heavily to France’s fine and mostly fee-less health care system. Public education is also essentially gratuit, even at the university level, and France’s private schools charge far less than their U.S. counterparts.

The highways are first-rate; the trains are punctual and go almost everywhere. The air in major cities is cleaner than in decades, probably because of ubiquitous bike lanes, tougher parking rules and extensive subway systems, all of which have lured people away from their cars.

Of course, civilization has its discontents, and in France the grumbling is often about taxes. On income, the top rate is a stiff 45% (vs. 35% in the U.S.), plus a surtax for high earners. That doesn’t include a taxpayers relatively high contributions to help fund his or her health care and pension. Good public services do not come cheap.

On the bright side, the official retirement age is a generous 62. The current government of President Emmanuel Macron tried to raise that to 64 last year to strengthen France’s sagging finances. Strong public backlash forced his prime minister to resign — the fifth one to go, after similar setbacks, in two years.

Which brings me to the “yes, but” part of this love letter. As Charles de Gaulle, the World War II hero who dominated postwar Franch politics, famous quipped: “How can anyone govern a nation with 246 kinds of cheese?” That has never been truer than now, though the cheese count has risen above 1,000.

Demonstrations, protests and strikes have become almost constant. Political divisions have widened. Macron’s approval rating hit a historic presidential low of 11% late last year and hasn’t much recovered. His coalition of mostly centrist parties is struggling to maintain the country’s sagging economy and expensive social safety net. The rightist opposition, meanwhile, is surging on its calls for tax cuts and, especially, a Trump-style crackdown on immigration and a perceived “Islamization” of French society.

In his new book, Fractured France, Paris-based British scholar Andrew Hussey asserts that the “Hexagon” (look at a map) has become, essentially, two nations: one for the prosperous, elegant people in a handful of glittery cities; the other for the neglected villages, deindustrialized towns and vast housing projects for immigrants, most of them Muslims from former French colonies in Africa. That largely forgotten France is a land of anger, despair and a sense among its inhabitants that their country has forgotten them.

Anger and a sensitivity to injustice have echoed through French history centuries, inspiring reform and several French revolutions. Also. America’s 1776 version, for which the French provided both intellectual and material support. Nearly 1,000 French troops died for our freedom. "

Maybe it’s time to reciprocate. Rather than take to the barricades, you can simply come here – and not just to savor the glories of Paris and other tourist magnets. Instead, spend some time and money in the lesser-known places, what folks here call “France profonde” (deep France), that more authentic, more quintessentially French domain of tradition and friendliness. There, the locals will greet us warmly and correct our high school French with gentle patience.

This version of France is probably a better place to see at first hand the pride that people here take in their history and culture, as well as the grit and determination that has helped the country survive two world wars and countless other crises.

France will no doubt stagger through its current troubles. It usually does, after exhausting all other possibilities. With luck, the result this time could be an even better, more prosperous and stable society, where the blessings are spread more evenly. The French have a history of bitter internal conflict and, when things are about to get out of hand, they come together to find solutions.

They realize that, despite their differences, they are all French. And that this land of Charlemagne and Bonaparte, De Tocqueville and Lafayette, Voltaire and Rousseau, Matisse and Monet, Sartre and Molière has built one of history’s greatest civilizations — and renovated it many times. Let a thousand cheeses bloom.