France v The Rest of the World

I’m always curious about other people’s experience of France, good or bad.. my personal favourites of the kind are: Almost French, picked up by yours truly at Sydney airport in June 2003, finished by the time I reached Paris and then was lucky to get signed by the author Sarah Turnbull while she was in Paris. Talk to the Snail by Stephen Clarke had me in stitches from beginning to end.

While browsing in a second hand bookshop in Christchurch, my attention was drawn to a book called Allons Enfants - A New Zealand family in France, written by Linda Burgess. From the back cover: Linda and Robert Burgess had their first taste of France during the 1970s, when Robert a former All Black, was playing rugby for Lyon. Twelve years later, they wanted to share something of that experience with their growing children. Hmmm sounds good to me. Unfortunately, it did not quite live up to my expectations so I’d give it 5 out of ten.. yeah yeah, some of the locals weren't very nice, their landlord was sneaky…you get that everywhere. I think her hubby’s account of his time as an All Black and as a player for the LOU would have been far more interesting.

I almost struggled to find an excerpt worthy of bloggification, but here it is:

We were the only red number plate in the car park. The French are good tourists in their own country and most of the cars had local plates. Other than that, there ere a couple of 75s from Paris, one car from Belgium and another from Holland. We assembled in our little group at the entrance. Inside was a miniature train which would take us into the cave. The kids started to perk up. Good, something mechanised. Perhaps this would be fun after all.

Once we got inside, said our guide, we were to stay close together. Only last week they had lost someone. This happened all the time, and they found them years later, wandering through the underground tunnels, completely white from sunlight.

A humorist. All tourist attractions specialised in them. There had been a particularly droll one at Universal studios who had encouraged us to move quickly, even if it meant trampling over the person in front. 'It doesn't matter!' he had cried. ' That person is a stranger! You will never see that person again!' This guide was equally pointed.

'Vous venez d'ou?' he asked. Eagerly the Dutch and Belgians identified their countries of origin. Their admissions passed without comment.

'Et vous?' he said to us.

Everything he said that had raised a laugh from his audience of sycophants had already punctured by Gemma's little hiss. ' What did he say?'

How could we tell her that the biggest laugh he'd got yet was his reply to our admitting that we came from Nouvelle- Zelande? 'Pas de probleme' he said, after an immacutely-timed pause. 'We take anyone'. Then emboldened by the response from the small crowd of tittering toadies. 'Votre M. Lange, eh? Il n'aimait pas le Rainbow Warrior. 'Eh bien', he said. 'It was a pity... a pity he wasn't on it.' This was greeted with positive gales of hilarity. Smiling with grim good sportmanship, we climbed aboard the little train.

David Lange was the Prime Minsiter of NZ at the time of the Rainbow Warrior saga.To improve the relations between France and NZ I propose the following rule: Do not mention : the sheep, the Rainbow Warrior and the Rugby World Cup 2007. Let's just stick to the weather...