Paris (Oct. 18, 2007) -- The battle for the future of France began last night far below the streets of Paris, in the subterranean world that is The Metro.
On one side, we have the forces of change and capitalism, led by President Nicolas Sarkozy, a hyper, yet petite fellow elected in May. In what could effortlessly be described as unfortunate timing, his flaky, ex-model wife announced yesterday that she was leaving him.
The news hit the French papers today with a wonderful splash. My favorite headline of all the great headlines was from the left-leaning Liberation newspaper; "Desperate Housewife" (in English) above a picture of his wife, Cecilia.
The TV series of kind of the same name is very popular over here.
On the other side of this struggle, stand the unions of conservative public workers who are determined to fight change. This side prefers the long vacations, early retirements and inability to suddenly lose your job for, say, not showing up for extended periods of time for no reason. Nice work if you can get it.
Sarkozy and Co. want a France that economically looks more American in the way of hiring and firing and in the way of paying more if a worker works more hours.
In the middle, between these stubborn forces -- and the ones that began suffering slightly last night -- shuffle the millions of people in Paris who ride the Metro or the buses around the city.
Black Thursday, as it was dramatically being called, actually began Wednesday night.
On Wednesday night, after work at around 10:40, I did not wait long for the metro that took me within about 30 minutes by foot from my apartment. So I took that as a good sign. Some people at work were ordering cabs without even checking the metro, just assuming that
the Metro would be closed.
Veterans at the IHT tended to be the ones stirring up these images of anarchy and masses of people stumbling home like zombies, as if Parisians would stoop to that.
The last time there was a strike of this magnitude was in 1995 and it lasted 3 weeks. The unions won.
This Black Thursday strike is scheduled to only last one day. Kind of a shot across the bow in my view. I will, more than likely, be buying a bike next week since I think this is the start, not the end, of the battle.
I'm not sure who I'm cheering for in this war.
Being from a country that, a few years back, wantedonly a slight tweak to the right of the country's steering wheel -- only to see the wood-paneled national station wagon careening suddenly right into the median, then down, then back up (did we just get
air?) then through the oncoming traffic, then smashing through the guard rail and then plunging into the nearby woods for a little off-roading -- I'm hesitant to cheer for hyper leaders.
Plus, I think the French are onto something with the whole work-to-live mentality, the 35-hour work week and the long vacations. I was surprised to learn that, hour-for-hour, the French are more productive than Americans.
They work when they get to work. Imagine.
I was not shocked, however, to find out that productivity in France falls by 30 percent in August
when more than 60 percent of workers leave for month-long vacations. Having taken off most of
September, I can honestly say that this is indeed a grand idea.
But the other side of the coin is that economic growth is hard to come by. Oh, and all those rude French waiters, yeah, they're rude because they're stuck doing that job for the next 30 years. I'd be mad and a little surly, too.
At any rate, the strike today turned out to be anything but black or even very serious.
So, yes, moderate change would be good for France.
I had decided that my strategy was to simply walk to work. This is, after all, a nice city for a long walk.
Just watch out for the dog merde.
And the weather cooperated. It was a gorgeous, clear and crisp fall day, one that you could tell was going to be nice from the dawn.
Over the course of three hours, I walked all the way to work, going through areas I hadn't seen in a while, stopping to read in the park and then another stop for a coffee until I finally ended up at work. It was a nice way to be reminded that I live in Paris and to rekindle that relationship. It becomes routine after a while, strangely enough.
The chilly weather and a case of the sniffles put me in a cab after work but not before a young guy in a beater that was obviously not a taxi asked if I needed
a taxi. "Non, C'est bon, merci," I said, thanking him and declining at the same time. I used free lance cabs in Cuba but I'm not using them here.
As my eventual and official taxi rolled through the place near the Opera on my way home I noticed with a smile that the taxi line was at least 60 people deep.
So that was the first strike I've survived. There's talk that they may continue this little exercise on Friday. I don't work Friday and I don't plan on leaving my neighborhood over the weekend. Best of luck, I say.
Hope all is well where ever this very long note finds you. Sorry. It had been a long while since the last one.
Happy Friday, bon weekend, don't work too hard and
take care,
Brett
