(yn0t_ should have been worried when he considered what I might do with no work-related responsibilities and some time on my hands...)

I spent 1974-1975 in Germany (then West Germany) working at 2 U.S. Army Hospitals, including the 2nd General in Landstuhl -- the hospital to which wounded soldiers and Marines are currently being evacuated from Iraq. The locals were generally friendly, though many were reserved, especially those older locals who had lived through the Second World War. Some of those elders were overtly hostile and seemingly bitter. It didn't help that so many GIs were essentially run amok in their town, had set up a bustling drug trade, and, in one sorry case, had cut the throat of a local taxi driver.

Most of the folks I worked with saved all of their time off to fly home to the States, a vacation strategy that puzzled me. By July '75, I had accrued almost 3 weeks of vacation and got approval to use it all in one fell swoop. I had a cheap backpack, sleeping bag, stove, and tarp and I hoofed down the hill from the 2G early one morning in July and stuck my thumb out on an entrance ramp to the Autobahn with a goal to visit Scotland and points between.

At a time when many folks in the U.S. take almost personal offense at the seeming animosity directed at Americans as a whole, it is refreshing to remember just how well I was treated as an individual and that I was *never* treated poorly.

My first ride was a "local" in a 2002tii (which I soooo lusted after) who let me exercise my clearly pathetic German all the way to Saarbrucken until he switched the conversation to impeccable English -- but offered me effusive compliments for my lame attempt. I was emboldened.

West past Metz and across northern France, I was the beneficiary of good conversation, free munchies, sandwiches and schnappes. People seemed happy to see me. No matter that the U.S. was on the tail end of a particularly wrong-headed and mortal war (to which so many Europeans took vocal exception) or that I was obviously a troop (I had done my best to stretch the haircut rules in advance of my departure date, but hair only grows so fast). People were just *soooo* nice.

Arriving in Calais very late one evening, I struggled to find a place to flop, finally passing out in a collapsed concrete bunker on the beach near the hovercraft terminal. Years later, when my ankles itch, I blame all of the Goddamn French sand fleas I met that night. J'Accuse!

Heading toward Newcastle, A gent in a small blue Ford screeched to a stop nearly shouting "You're an American!" as if I had just landed from Alpha Centauri. Pulling away, he asked "Where are you from???" as he rummaged in the glove box for a box of cassette tapes. When I answered "Boston", he studied the stack of tapes, grabbed one, popped it in his exotic car cassette player and treated me to "This is Arnie 'Woo! Woo!' Ginsberg on WMEX!!!!!!" ... He had "Cruisin'" tapes in the glove box for any stray American hitchhikers he might pick up. "I love it." he said, "I roll up to a stop light with the windows down and somebody in the next car says 'What's that you've got on?' and I get to shout 'KLIL Dallas!!!'"

On and on...in Edinburgh, after exercising my map-reading skills to help an electronics executive find a warehouse, he kindly kicked the local manager out of his office, gave me the biggest swivel chair and had the staff send out for some sandwiches for his grubby, unshaven, unwashed navigator....returning through Glasgow, stuck on a desolate road by, of all things, a huge crematorium, a local family (The Birds) took me in, pulled out the couch, and gently inquired in the morning as to whether 3-minute eggs were sufficient...

My strangest, most memorable moment came late in the trip as I hitchhiked east near Cambrai when a large, faded pea-green Mercedes with Belgian plates pulled to the side of the road and I beheld 4 fully-inhabited, very plump, nuns and their slender novitiate assistant. Jumping from the passenger seat, the head nun grabbed my pack, threw it in the boot, pulled the novitiate out of the rear seat, plunked her in the middle in the front, and then nearly threw me in the middle position in the rear. Trapped!

Shades of parochial school! I huddled in the rear, avoiding eye contact, mumbling something about "Allez-vous a Metz??" when the boss nun started to quiz me in very respectable English: "So you are an American?" "So you are a soldier?" I thought "jeez, is it that obvious? I mean, my hair has grown a *little*!!" I sheepishly admitted that, yes, I was a troop, but my lack of enthusiasm for what I viewed as the mickey-mouse military life I'd been living (and for the general recent direction of our military's efforts) clearly caught her attention. Boss nun slowly launched into a polite, sympathetic, but emotional and insistent, lecture for her trapped American: "I know that maybe these days you don't think it is such a great thing to be a soldier...not maybe the life you like...it maybe does not seem like you are doing something interesting....but I think that we can all say that the best, happiest day of our life was when a big green tank with a white star rolled into our village..."

I looked to each side, and could see tears rolling from the eyes of my two "guards" and I could hear what I though were soft sobs from the boss nun. I leaned a bit and caught the eye of the novitiate which I thought was rolling noticably, as if to say "Oh, here they go again!" I didn't know what to do or say. It was as if my Uncle Bill was driving that tank.

I mumbled something completely inadequate about "I see what you mean" and "oh, I like the Army OK" and we rolled on down the highway in what seemed a much more serious way. At Meziere, the boss nun confessed that, alas, it would be necessary for the Mercedes to take a sharp left -- turn north -- if it was to stand any chance of reaching Belgium and home. At a junction, my starboard-side guard allowed me to debark, and the boss nun worked the trunk lid. After helping with my backpack, she pulled out two grocery bags with 3-4 long baguette/ham sandwiches and as many liters of bottled water, ignored my protests, thrust them into my arms, and jumped back into the tank commander seat. With some of the nuns still sniffling, with a handkerchief or two flying out the windows, the Mercedes pulled across the road and disappeared into the North.

It's hopeful to see that many, if not most, can distinguish Americans and America.

At a time when many folks in the U.S. take almost personal offense at the seeming animosity directed at Americans as a whole, it is refreshing to remember just how well I was treated as an individual and that I was *never* treated poorly.

That's a very cool story, Jim. And yes, it is refreshing to read about people treating Americans nicely. I don't have a complex about the entire world hating Americans, but right now, I do think some of the barbs and quips are somewhat ill-timed. That's the only reason I've been a little defensive lately.

That is indeed a great story. I definitely don't think as many Europeans hate us as many Americans think. I've always had great experiences there.

My parents took a trip to Italy for several weeks. They visited mostly small hill towns and villages, and as they walked down the street these very old women would come up to them to give their sympathies about September 11, as if it happened to their country.

My last visit to Europe was almost four years ago. The English, Spanish and Italians were very nice and accomodating. I cannot say anything good about our experiences with the French. I'm sorry, it is not stereotyping if you experience it first-hand. I've heard that outside Paris they are nice. We only went to Paris and some train stations in France. I had a very bad experience with a French policewoman

Anyway, I love the Italians. They are some of the nicest people I've met, and I didn't even speak a word of their language.

That is indeed a great story. I definitely don't think as many Europeans hate us as many Americans think. I've always had great experiences there.

Yeah, just the Europeans on this BBS.

Yeah, just the Europeans on this BBS.

You'd hate Americans too if you had to work for one of their companies for two years.

Oh, wait, you probably have

Rob

PS I like everyone really. Even the French are nice outside of Paris, except to Americans.

I spent my final year at uni living with guy off my course and his pot smoking, depressive, neat freak girlfriend from santa cruz who spent all her time in the kitchen whinging about washing up and wether I'd paid my fair share of the bills.
I've also had to work with all manner of utter w*nkers on jobs over in the US. So my experience of Americans has not been great.

But you guys all seem really nice .

You'd hate Americans too if you had to work for one of their companies for two years.

I think the universal evil of executives and higher-ups in large corporations transcends political and cultural boundaries. Are large American companies really any more evil than large European companies?

> I think the universal evil of executives and higher-ups in large corporations
> transcends political and cultural boundaries. Are large American companies
> really any more evil than large European companies?

No, but Europeans do it with more style.

No, but Europeans do it with more style.

Now *that* I can believe.

Yeah, just the Europeans on this BBS.

()

Beautiful story, Jim!

I didn't have similar experience in America (I never got time to hitchhike), but several times I got lost or shown obvious ignorance of local customs people were as friendly and gracious as those you encountered.

I cannot say anything good about our experiences with the French. I'm sorry, it is not stereotyping if you experience it first-hand. I've heard that outside Paris they are nice. We only went to Paris and some train stations in France. I had a very bad experience with a French policewoman

Stange. The American company I work with has European headquerters in Paris. I have never heard any complaints from them, and most of their staff there are transient Yanks. My personal experiences from Paris are also very nice (though, I will grant you that, Romans did seem a shade more friendly).

I cannot say anything good about our experiences with the French

I have been through most parts of Europe and elsewhere, and I've found the Golden Rule applies pretty much everywhere. "Do to others as you would have them do to you."

To my surprise the French were nothing like what I was anticipating. My time in France was delightful and I loved living there. And while my experience is nearing 10 years past now, I must say that during the year and a half I spent living in Paris--not once--was I ever treated with disdain for being an American. In fact the only time I found the French to be troublesome in there interactions was when I (or those I was with) expected them to respond/react in English. As I considered my expectations about the French and how if I were to encounter a stranger who appeared in my town demanding of me this or that which I did not understand I would probably respond in the same manner that garnered the French their so called "reputation" for dislike of Americans.

Whenever I made so much as an attempt at speaking the language, people made every effort to be conversant and assist me with my requests. However, lining up and demanding "Gimme a cheeseburger!" just didn't yield the same amicable results.*

I'm sure this isn't a great revelation to anyone, but I wanted to share a bit on my story.

* = I must confess that my twisted side did take a small pleasure from going to Euro-Disney (a huge affront to French society on so many levels) and pressing the local staffs to some inane request in English to the point where they had to respond with a smile and be helpful... OK, I admit, it was mean.... Over all though, I'd say the French, as a society, are a bit self-absorbed--but aren't we all.

I did have to laugh when "they" (corporate America?) were able to get permission to build a McD's at the base of the Eiffel Tower. The stipulation was no signage to identify the building--though what I heard was that McD's believed that people would find it based on the McLitter being scattered about. Sad.

- Tim
(Dang had this written up last night but couldn't post due to some BBS weirdness... Hope it works today)

Whenever I made so much as an attempt at speaking the language, people made every effort to be conversant and assist me with my requests

Yeah, I've made that observation in a previous post. You don't have to actually know much French at all. Simply saying hello and attempting to ask a question does the trick. Even if you can't finish expressing the question in French...

Your post implies that:
a) I did not follow your Golden Rule and
b) I acted like a noisy American everywhere I went.

No, the reactions I received from the French people were totally uncalled for. Unlike you, every interaction with them, without even a word from us, was approached with seeming disdain.

Examples:
a) On out first day in Paris, my friend and I met a friend from high school who had lived with his family in Paris from birth to junior high, when they came to America. Mid-high school they moved back. He spoke perfect French and as far as we knew, totally fit in. We all sat at an outdoor cafe. We didn't say a word. He talked to the waiter in French. When the waiter left, our friend said he had been talking to him very rudely, because he sensed we were American. The waiter didn't come back for 15 minutes, and even then handed us some bread and water then left again. Our friend said we should just leave, so we did.

b) when my friend and I (the one I was traveling with) were leaving Paris to go to Barcelona, we took the train. We got to the station with a good amount of time, but couldn't for the life of us find the right train. We finally asked an attendant which train was going to Barcelona. Her reply was like something from a movie:
[snooty]"I'm sorry, French trains don't go to Spain"[/snooty] Then she turned and walked away.
When I say it was snooty, I am not exaggerating. It had nothing to do with what an American thinks of the French accent from movies and such. We had plenty of exposure to that while we were there. If you could hear my exact impression in real life, you would be amazed. I promise I am not making more of it than was really there. You see, if she had wanted to be more helpful, she would have clarified: the trains go to Spain's border, then you hop across the tracks and get on another one, which takes you to your destination. So, instead of pointing out which train that was, she just left. We barely made it to the right one, and really had no idea if it was or not when we borded.

c) The worst of all. Coming back from Spain, through France to Italy. Just before crossing the Italian border, we had to do the train switch again. What did I do? I left my money belt on the train. It had my passport, any ID, and all my money. I was a total mess. I had no idea what to do. I called home at 3AM US time and my parents tried to talk me through it. My friend and I eventually found a police station by the train station. In it were Italian and French police officers. The Italians (identified because my companion is Italian) were extremely nice and helpful and seemed concerned. We weren't there more than 3 minutes before a French policewoman, leaning back in a chair at her desk on the other side of the room said "oh don't listen to them, they're just Americans."

These were exact experiences that I had. I did not exaggerate any part of it, or even paraphrase what these people said to me. In each situation we didn't say a thing that could possibly be considered rude, because we either didn't say anything at all, or we were simply asking for help. Because of these situations, I have no affinity for the French. You have no idea how insulted I felt with the way they treated us.

That's why I say don't make assumptions about the American visitor, ie: that we weren't the ones treating the people correctly. Your Golden Rule should have been explained to the hosts, not the guests.

And by the way, as I said, every time we met someone or needed help in any of the other three countries we visited on that trip, we treated those people with respect, gratitude, and friendship, and they treated us the same way.

sorry if I'm offending anyone, I don't mean to

Wow. That does sound ugly! Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything with respect to your experience--only to speak from mine.

I'm certain there are many French who just don't like young (American) people. Who knows what gives you away or sets them off. I always felt I stood out from the crowd when I wore tennis shoes. Still I had nothing like your experiences. Perhaps it was my lack of language that kept me from hearing the comments. Go figure.

Cheers,
- Tim

Ah I see. That's fine. Yeah, maybe it was our age. Who knows, maybe that was the whole reason, and not that we were American. We were all wearing tennis shoes as well, but I think our speaking English without a French accent was what gave us away

The toughest part about it was that this country in which we got the least help from the people was the only one who's language we didn't speak. My friend and I both spoke English, of course, but he was fluent in Spanish and was an Italian himself. So we had a tough time in France. They spoke English to us, but now I wish I didn't understand them!

Their country is beautiful, though. Paris is wonderful and we had a great time in it. We did the usual Eifel Tower and the Luvre, and we even took a little train trip to Versailles (sp?). To anyone visiting France I offer this suggestion: find out about a special pass for the various site-seeing opportunities. I'm not sure exactly what it was, but we payed a small amount for a pass that let us skip every line at the about mentioned places. The line at the Luvre looked about 30 minutes long. We were let aside and were in in about 30 seconds

I also had the best meal of the trip when I was in France. We ate at a small restaurant, and had the usual onion soup and escargo, with creme brulee (sp?) for dessert. They were the best I'd ever tasted of each, and it all cost me about $12! Yum!

Sorry, but I find it amusing that of all the hard words that you thought you might have spelled wrong, the only ones you did were ``Louvre'', ``Eiffel'', and ``escargot'', which you didn't second-guess yourself on.

(I was sitting here humming It's a Small World After All and then...)

"oh don't listen to them, they're just Americans"

Ouch.

I was sitting around in New Jersey a few weeks ago with 5-6 guys I *used* to work with and, since we had all traveled quite a bit over the past few years, we compared notes. The guy that was probably the friendliest and nicest in the bunch had been sent to France for a few gigs and pretty much decided he had no interest in ever going back based on what he considered to be crummy treatment. I have witnessed cases where Americans got less-than-friendly service because they behaved like oafs, but yours is not the first story I have heard from someone who was treated badly without provocation.

Having spent maybe a total of 4-5 months total in France, I think the worst treatment I've received was being ignored by a waiter (and I walked out), and I've seen a fair amount of low-grade brusque behavior by waiters, in Paris anyway, which I tend to weigh on the scale of how I get treated in other places like NYC. I think Paris is worse: the love-hate relationship with tourists and tourism.

For your nasty point #3, I would always think of my grammar school class at St. Bernard's School and the school's most notorious bully, Alfred. Guess what Alfred's occupation is now?

I hope that someday you are compelled to return for some reason and that you get treated well -- balance out that nasty cop! Oh, and to get myself back into a humming mood (actually, I *hate* that song!) I'll give you another travel tale where a certain amount of French officiousness worked to my advantage (I think).

On a month-long trip in the early 80s (the ill-fated honeymoon!) we picked up a little red Ford Escort rental in Brussels and drove south. Somewhere between Rouen and Caen it started running like crap. In Caen, we were fortunate to spot several Ford advertisements on bus shelters that all referred to a Ford agency on the "Avenue de Paris" (or something like that). Piece of cake, we got on the ring road, drove east, found the Ave and found the Ford dealer.

I composed myself in the car for a few minutes with my Berlitz book piecing together some lame, mangled sentence about "J'ai une probleme avec mon voiture...Je pense c'est une bougie" (I have a problem with my car. i think it is a spark plug) then I walked in to the service desk and blurted out my lines to a guy standing behind the counter.

Behind that gent, the service manager turned around. He was a slight, fairly short gent with what I vividly remember as perhaps the most precisely trimmed moustache in the world and he was wearing a bright, spotless white lab coat with a natty Ford emblem embroidered in. Without a word he brushed past me and marched outside to the Escort, popped the hood, motioned for me to start it, and started pulling plug wires. Sure enough, one wasn't firing. He turned on his heel, went back inside and came out with a socket and ratchet, pulled that plug, produced a new one from the pocket of the lab coat, cranked it in, waved for me to start it, and "Voila!", all was right with the Escort.

I got out of the car to follow him back to the office and started fishing in my pocket for some francs when he stopped short, spun around, raised his arm and, with his nose just a little bit in the air, delivered two very sharp upward flicks of his right hand.

We were dismissed.

Hey, Jim! You tell good stories!

I wish I had the same flair for words that you do.

In reply to:

---

In it were Italian and French police officers. The Italians (identified because my companion is Italian) were extremely nice and helpful and seemed concerned.

---

I have to been Paris several times, and a couple of Italian cities. The French have always been polite with me. The Italians, on the other hand, have sometimes been kinda rude. The oddest example was once when I was standing around looking at the Duomo in Florence a man came up to me out of nowhere and asked if I was American. I said yes, and he made a rude gesture with his arms, muttered something in Italian that didn't sound nice at all, and stomped off.

What thank you, Bitt. Coming from you, than means a lot. I wish I had *your* flair.

(Plus! This could mean that Jim maybe could get away with mangling or dangling part of a participle without getting masticated too aggressively!)

The oddest example was once when I was standing around looking at the Duomo in Florence a man came up to me out of nowhere and asked if I was American. I said yes, and he made a rude gesture with his arms, muttered something in Italian that didn't sound nice at all, and stomped off.

Well, there are nut cases everywhere and folks fixate on all sorts of grievances, both real and imagined. When were you there? We weren't invading anybody at the time, were we?

Many of the WWII-generation have gone to there graves, but when I traveled around Europe from Germany in the 70s, there were plenty of folks with war-related baggage, good and bad. I remember a somewhat crazed guy who hung around the train station in Mainz. He'd approach groups of GIs with "American? American?" and start shaking hands. The catch was that he had just one finger and a thumb on that hand (which was quickly evident as he pressed the flesh). I wonder to this day, "Was this guy really thanking us for saving him from getting killed or something? ..... or was this his way to make a whole bunch of Americans uncomfortable with a possible subtext of 'Hey, thanks a shitload America for shooting off my hand!'" No way to know.

And there were other folks like this. I sometimes felt like a magnet for quirky old gents on trains. I remember with pleasure, though, the Italian guy on a train who was thrilled to hear I was from Boston...wanted to know how things were going since he had spent time in Boston as a POW. He probably never got to hear about the Big Dig.

I'd say maybe the rudest treatment I ever received was in Italy, but in Florence -- talk about a touristized town. Someday I'll have to see some of the real Italy.

That was one reason I was trying to think of for our treatment when we were there. Was there anything going on in the summer (July) of 1999?

Florence is very nice, but yeah, very tourist heavy. I've been to the country twice. The friend I was talking about had spent every single summer since he was born at a small bech town in western Italy. Poor guy had to spend every summer for 4 months on an Italian beach (I wish sarcasm came across better in text). I got to spend a couple weeks there too. It was fantastic, and I got a better insight into the people, even though they didn't speak any English (they tried, but it was the equivalent of us using a little of our high school foreign language lessons). The people were just so nice. That's why that is my favorite foreign country.

Actually, now that I think of it, wasn't the war in Kosovo going on in 1999? I remember the two of us went to his grandparent's place on the eastern coast, and while we were on that beach we would occasionally see fighter jets head out to sea.

In reply to:

---

Well, there are nut cases everywhere and folks fixate on all sorts of grievances, both real and imagined. When were you there? We weren't invading anybody at the time, were we?

---

I think we were cool at the time. I am not suggesting that there is any pattern here, just comparing my experiences with others. The entire would has people like that and the amount ebbs and flows; I am not sure I would want to be Frenchman in America right now, much less an Arab.

Actually, now that I think of it, wasn't the war in Kosovo going on in 1999?

Yeah, but it ended in June. And, besides, the French had signed on to that little adventure.

I think we were cool at the time.

Asking that question was just my attempt at dark humor. I can't think of anything particular about 1999 either. Probably just some residual anti-Americanism!