Ben Haines

On Boxing Day or St Stephen?s Day my nephew and I were at the bus stop at the foot of our hill, on the Dover Road, waiting for the bus to Dover. Bus, because almost no trains run in Britain on Boxing Day. My nephew had kindly agreed to see me off, and to take my bicycle back home if the bus had no space for it. Sure enough, the bus was full, and the driver had no space in the boot for a bicycle, so my nephew kindly walked it up the hill, as I settled for the drive to Dover. The bus took the boring route, through an out of town shopping area called Bluewater, where many left the bus to engage in shopping -- I think for pleasure. We stopped in Canterbury, with a view of the Cathedral and of the suspiciously well-preserved medieval walls, and next at Dover Port. Here my seventy pound (hundred dollar) rail, boat rail return ticket kicked in, and I headed for the Langan?s Brasserie, the hest restaurant on the boat, for a good blow-out meal and a snooze. At Calais the free bus took me past the fifteenth century English gothic church, still closed due to war damage, to Calais Ville station. There I bought the exellent listings magazine Pariscope (http://www.pariscope.fr) and for 3 euros a supplement for a place in the first class on a Eurostar train that had left London that afternoon, and stopped in an obscure suburb of Calais called Frethun. This has a station only because over a decade ago the then mayor of Calais said he would not give planning permission for the Eurostar route unless he got his station. It was dark and cold, and we passengers (all six of us) huddled in a glass wind-break. I boarded, found my three euros had not bought me a first class meal (which you get with the 200 euro ticket from London), and slept the two hours to Paris. <BR><BR>At Paris Nord I freed a luggage trolley, and found that the two euros that I used to free it were forfeit. Anywhere else, the money you put into a trolley you have back when you stop using it. Not so at Paris Nord. I surrendered the trolley, and walked my bag 200 yards to my one-star hotel, the Cambrai. For 50 euros this gave me the room I had booked by phone, a double bed in a room that allowed two feet of space around the bed so that in going anywhere you edged along the bed. I went downstairs and swapped for a good room that was unused that night only, two rooms in fact, big enough to bed a family of four. I crossed the Place Roubaix to the Brasserie Roma, that had pizza and pasta, but also plenty of less starchy stuff. I used it often during my stay, since I liked it. I felt I had arrived when on my last evening the young waiter greeted me by shaking my hand and asking after my health. And so to bed.<BR><BR> continued<BR>

Ben Haines

On Monday I had cheese with breakfast again, and, as daily, walked to the hotel next door to collect a free copy of the daily London newspaper, the Guardian. I had offered to pay, but the hotelier there would not hear of it: the English gave it to him free, so he gave it to the English free. I thus saw the Guardian three days running. My usual paper is the Independent, and the Guardian was a bit of a shock. I tend to agree with their left-wing approach to things. But the view of the USA in the editorials, comments columns, and letters pages was strange. The paper seemed dominated by people who could not see the value to liberty of the invasions of Kosovo, Bosnia, or Afghanistan. Some seemed to deny that there was successful regime change in Germany and Japan in the late forties. Now I will say plenty of unkind things about the USA, but I do give credit where credit is due, and I think the Guardian should too.<BR><BR>Americans can still get things wrong. In the hotel one evening was a young woman who wanted a bed for the next night. The receptionist was sorry, but named other hotels that might have something for her. At no point did she say please or thank you. I am afraid I commented to her on this, and she was good enough to say that she had not realised, and had meant no discourtesy. I hope that in the long term I improved her stay. I am still not sure that I should have spoken. <BR><BR>At the klezmer some blighter stole my walking stick from the bike I had tied it to, so on Monday morning I crossed the road from my hotel to an Algerian cheapjack who turned out to sell for five euros sticks of the kind that I buy here in south London at twenty euros. They had cheap gloves, too, so I bought a pair (What happened to the Common Mareket ?). Then the only serious thing I did that day was see the exhibition on the Traditional Turkish House at the Museum of Mankind (sorry, ladies, but that is what they call it). Quite decent, but small, and set in a strangely dated and decrepit museum of the ethnography of the former French empire. I am not sure you can run a convincing museum of ethnography these days. I mean, the key point about a Mexican or a Korean is likely to be his ability in computing, or her ability in small industry. I suppose you can run a museum of historical ethnography, but in central Europe such museums have convinced me that every ethnos has pots, textiles, and wedding ceremonies, and that there are only so many shapes a pot can be. Jaded, I fear. I must go again to the Horniman here in south London, and see whether there is more to say.<BR><BR> continued<BR><BR>

Ben Haines

continued<BR><BR>That evening I went to the new Bercy railway station, whence the night trains run to Italy. I could not inspect such a train, as the one I had in mind was delayed by 90 minutes in leaving (heaven knows when it reached Venice next day). So I quizzed the friendly receptionist and found what I wanted to know, details of which will appear in relevant replies from me on this forum this year. The station is a clear improvement on the Gare de Lyon, as it is small and has short distances from taxi, bus or metro to train. The station facilities are few, but there are two good waiting lounges upstairs.<BR><BR>Paris looks good, and is well-lit and busy. Briefed by people on this forum I looked for dog mess, and found little, certainly no hazard. A chap tried to pick my pocket at Chatelet les Halles, but had no luck. I do look English. Parisian shopkeepers and waiters greet me in English before I open my mouth. So I am a sitting duck for a thief.<BR><BR>Yesterday morning the night porter forgot to wake me, but I awoke anyway, walked to the Gare du Nord, and took the old style non-Eurostar train up to Boulogne, with a connection to Calais. There I had a bus to the port, another good shipboard lunch, and a view of Dover castle and cliffs. Two hours to London Bridge, seven minutes down the line to my local station, buy some milk and cheese at the Gujurati grocers, and so by bus up my hill to home.<BR><BR>Ben Haines, London<BR>

JC

My dear Mr Haines,such dry humour! Sorry,I couldn't help laughing out loud.<BR><BR>Did you end up hiring a bike? <BR><BR>Music?

Scarlett

<BR>Thank you very much, Mr Haines! <BR>What a pleasure to read this on a grey wet New Years morning! It just aids and abets my need to be in London as soon as possible!<BR>Happy New Year, Ben Haines!<BR>Scarlett

KF

Laughing at or with?

Patrick

After a couple of years of reading the hundreds of oh-so-helpful posts from Mr. Haines, it is nice to actually see a trip report. So, Ben, you do indeed travel as well as dispense such wonderful information regarding Britain. Sounds like a great and fun trip! Thanks for the report.

Ben Haines

continued<BR><BR>That evening I went to the new Bercy railway station, whence the night trains run to Italy. I could not inspect such a train, as the one I had in mind was delayed by 90 minutes in leaving (heaven knows when it reached Venice next day). So I quizzed the friendly receptionist and found what I wanted to know, details of which will appear in relevant replies from me on this forum this year. The station is a clear improvement on the Gare de Lyon, as it is small and has short distances from taxi, bus or metro to train. The station facilities are few, but there are two good waiting lounges upstairs.<BR><BR>Paris looks good, and is well-lit and busy. Briefed by people on this forum I looked for dog mess, and found little, certainly no hazard. A chap tried to pick my pocket at Chatelet les Halles, but had no luck. I do look English. Parisian shopkeepers and waiters greet me in English before I open my mouth. So I am a sitting duck for a thief.<BR><BR>Yesterday morning the night porter forgot to wake me, but I awoke anyway, walked to the Gare du Nord, and took the old style non-Eurostar train up to Boulogne, with a connection to Calais. There I had a bus to the port, another good shipboard lunch, and a view of Dover castle and cliffs. Two hours to London Bridge, seven minutes down the line to my local station, buy some milk and cheese at the Gujurati grocers, and so by bus up my hill to home.<BR><BR>Ben Haines, London<BR>

Kathleen

Mr Haines, you are an absolute delight! Thanks for the perfectly composed, highly entertaining trip report. Your brief and, I don't doubt gentle, reproach of the discourteous young woman's manners was indeed justified. <BR><BR>A moment's education in good manners will benefit her many times over. It was, you might say, your duty to ease her future interpersonal relations and, in a larger sense, international relations.<BR><BR>As a favorite teacher wrote in my high school yearbook many years ago, &quot;The burden of intelligence is responsibility&quot;.

Christina

I'm American and resent the comment that being rude is some American trait or value, ie, &quot;Americans can still get things wrong&quot; . It is not. Not saying please/thank you to people giving you advice or helping you is not some national custom that is taught in the US, it is simply bad manners the same as anywhere. I have heard plenty of Europeans being rude and not saying please or thank you, either, including many English. That woman was just a rude and thoughtless person, that's all, it is not that Americans are so crude and unmannered that they need Europeans to teach us manners because we've never heard of them. Her excuse is typical of people that are clueless, that they don't mean to be offensive when they are. I do think that when you are traveling, dealing in a foreign language and having problems, sometimes you may forget normal manners because you are a little stressed or have your mind on your problems. I don't really think it is appropriate to comment on the manners of strangers like that, or take upon oneself the role of critic and upbraid someone publicly whom you don't know, as that seems rather rude in itself.

Susan

Christina,<BR> I am an American also, and as I make a point of minding my manners, I don't really take offense at someone from another country commenting on a bad mannered American. I always felt like apologising for Bill and Hillary Clinton one year in London, but remembered that I was only responsible for myself and my behavior. <BR>Don't be so quick to take offense at what was obviously a comment not meant to offend but part of an observation.<BR>If the French don't bury us in angry replies concerning our thinking they are all rude, we should try to have the same control of our emotions<BR>Having been a witness to plenty of rude people on my travels, I would not think to not name their nationality when telling my stories, as did Ben. <BR>So, chill out and try not to take everything too personally.<BR>Susan<BR>

y

&quot;... or take upon oneself the role of critic and upbraid someone publicly whom you don't know, as that seems rather rude in itself.&quot;<BR><BR>Gee, Christina, isn't that exactly what you've done?<BR>

Jeffrey

I agree wholeheartedly with Christina. The last thing I want while on holiday is a fossilized git playing the role of a buttinsky and informing me that I have not met his etiquette standards. I would have shot daggers at him, if not bite his head off.<BR><BR>I also resent the implication that rudeness is an American trait. We all know that is not true.<BR><BR>And, for the record Susan, what did Hillary Clinton do that you felt the need to apologize for?

oh_me

And quite right you were, Ben, to take the young lady to task. The track record of your own compatriots in interpersonal relations is nothing if not legendary in Europe. Some of them are particularly noted for the warm reception they accord to fellow soccer (football) enthusiasts, particularly those cheering for the opposite team, or even those who are merely refereeing the match. Tell me, is it true that your compatriots say, “if you please” just before they hurl various assorted projectiles at a match, and “you’re welcome” after it becomes apparent that their aim is frequently as good as your American brethren are, well, wrong on various other matters? Thinking of this, I concede that your young lady was wise to respond to your correction with a meek “I meant no discourtesy” – it may have saved her a considerable amount of, shall we say, inconvenience. <BR><BR>Sorry, Ben, I’ve been into the sauce today, (Happy New Year and all that) and am even less restrained than usual. Thank you for the report. <BR>

Ben Haines

English is a subtle language. I wrote quote Americans can still get things wrong unquote. The word can here means that I am not saying that Americans habitually get things wrong, nor that being rude is an American trait or value. I am saying that they can do so. To say discourtesy is an American trait would be absurd, and a model of stereotyping on the grand scale that oh me employs. <BR><BR>I relish the term fossilised git. It may well be justified.<BR><BR>I am afraid a section of my report failed to get through, so I shall try again now. I see that I refer to nastier suburbs of Paris that I have never seen: perhaps I should say that there too attention is called for: I am not saying that suburbs of Paris are nasty.<BR><BR>On the Friday morning I ate the hotel breakfast, quite good but with poor coffee, and picked up their free copy of the Guardian. I then moved next door, to the hotel Magenta, where I found a decent room with breakfast, bath and loo en suite for 54 euros. That morning I wasted in going on foot and by metro to two places that the Paris transport authority listed as having bikes for hire: both were closed. Undaunted, I lunched, took my siesta, and went off to try my French at a five oclock matinee of Moliere?s les Fourberies de Scapin. My French was not up to it. I caught the drift, and of course the physical knockabout, but not the detail. It was pleasant to see so many children there, having a good time, and lapping up a piece of their old culture. From there I went by bus to the big American Church near the Place de l?Etoile, for an evening of Christmas music from Russia. Choir and soloists were good, and I liked the idea that ten years ago this would have been unthinkable. So back to Brasserie Roma by metro, a good meal, and bed.<BR><BR>On Saturday I asked hotel staff to check the yellow pages and find me a cycle hire and repair shop. They found one near the Place de la Bastille, where a pleasant chap hired me a bike for ten euros a day, against my passport as deposit. After lunch I went to the museum of the Army Medical Services, with me as sole visitor, to see objects and photos to mark the advances made apace in the first world war, especially in surgery and prosthetics. A bit gory, but my brother would have liked it: he is an army doctor in the reserves. A snooze, then at eight to a Moroccan restaurant called Kebele, where the cellar housed an entertainment of story telling (in French) and music. The music was especially drumming and the ?ud. I expect you know that we have the lute from the Arabs of late medieval Spain, who called their stringed insrument el ?ud. The story telling was fantasy, but easy to follow, spoken in French carefully by a kindly Moroccan with much hair. The ?ud set a spanking pace, and a couple of lissom maidens got up to dance. After the music I supped upstairs on a good Moroccan mixed grill, served with unleavened bread. The diners in the restaurant were from many races. This may be the moment to say that whatever may be going on in the nastier suburbs, in central Paris people take colour as a matter of no interest or importance, as we do in London. I can no longer play my mischievous game of twenty years ago, when I would ask a black Parisian for street directions, only to find a white Parisian hurry up and try to take over the conversation. It may be a related fact that there is much more English around in central Paris than there was twenty years ago.<BR><BR>continued<BR>

Ben Haines

<BR>My nephew reminded me at tea here in London yesterday that there was a story that Parisians could not bear to hear their language mis-used. I think that was true thirty years ago: no such problem now.<BR><BR>On Sunday I had a gooey and smelly cheese to add to my breakfast, which gave it a lift. I cycled along the great boulevards to St George?s Church of England church for the Eucharist, with Christmas hymns, one Lesson read in French by a girl from Mauritius, and a sermon on seeing things from backstage. They usually offer lunch, but I think Christmas had worn them out, so they offered just wine, coffee, and pastries. I met with an American economist in Paris for a six month sabbatical with the Organisation for European Co operation and Development: he showed a proper doubt of the current idea of education as firstly an economic activity. He had invited his parents over for Christmas, and his father is a retired bishop, so we talked about the need for church management. So to lunch, and an exhibition of a Czech art nouveau sculptor and calligrapher, Frantisek Blek, whom I thought good, held in the museum of Bourdelle, a French sculptor of a century ago, whom I thought heavy, almost Prussian. That evening at five I went to a full-house concert by a tenor, alto, and band of Klezmer. Again, the house was swinging, but this time nobody had space to dance. So supper at the Roma, and bed.<BR><BR><BR>Ben Haines

jw

Hi Ben, You know I kind of thought there was a chapter missing -- Thanks for supplying it and for the entire interesting narrative. J.

JC

<BR>Mr Haines,many thanks for sharing your trip,it is really enjoyable to see a familiar place through different prospect. <BR><BR>Hope to have chance to attend a Moroccan story telling on my next visit.

Ben Haines

For JC: Not at all: I enjoyed writing the note.<BR><BR>Your key to Morrocan kingdoms of the mind, as to much else, is the 70 cent magazine Pariscope.<BR><BR>Ben Haines<BR>

MX

Mr. Haines, I too enjoyed your Paris trip report. I would hope you are not through. Would you consider giving us a tour of Old London town for the hopeful traveler. Those of us planning trips to London would be grateful.<BR>Mike<BR>